


The Avengers Wrangler

by Starry_Emerald173



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Australia, Avengers Family, Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, Babysitting, Bad at tagging, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Chaos, Chaotic Dumbasses, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Reader, Drunk Steve Rogers, Drunken Shenanigans, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hogwarts Houses, Hot Tub Time Machine - Freeform, I Am Groot (Marvel), Kidnapped Reader, Kidnapping, Laser Tag, Memes, Misadventures, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prankster avengers, Pregnant Pepper Potts, Protective Clint Barton, Retired Assassins, Road Trips, Rocket Raccoon - Freeform, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Some Swearing, The Defenders (Marvel TV) Spoilers, Trapped In Elevator, Troll Bucky Barnes, Troll Steve Rogers, Trolling, Undercover Missions, Villain Wrangler, Worthy, Wrangler, Wranglers Are Not Adult Supervision, emotional jumper cables, girls night, pizza delivery, sick day, there was one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 159
Words: 88,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173
Summary: You must've done something truly awful in a past life...A collection of one-shots/drabbles about the misadventures in babysitting Earth's Mightiest HeroesSwear words, casual violence, and petty backstabbing abound
Comments: 1038
Kudos: 387





	1. Avenger Wrangler (part one?)

Maria Hill was a miracle worker as far as you were concerned, and while you had - in your first few years at S.H.I.E.L.D. - practically worshipped the ground she walked on and hoped to grow up to be just like her, this was not what you had in mind.

“What did I do to you?” You asked. “Is this a past life punishment? Did I fuck up on something critical and no one told me?”

“No,” There was an unfair amusement cast over Maria’s face as she leaned back against the wall of the conference room where you’d just been briefed on your next assignment. “This is actually a promotion. Of sorts.”

“How do we un-promote me?”

“Y/N, you know most agents would be ecstatic over this assignment.”

You snorted. “I’ve run half a dozen missions with them so far. It’s been a nightmare.”

It was true. Honestly, now that you’d seen behind the PR front of the Avengers, it was astonishing that the world hadn’t ended in New York when the Chitauri had broken through. A-fucking-stonishing. Awesome might heroes they might be, but they had no concept of collateral damage, and that was before you added in the childish antics and weird team dynamics that were just as likely to have them picking fights with each other as picking a fight with the bad guys.

“But you,” Maria stretched out the last syllable. “Kept them on point, focused, and when it went up a creek without a paddle-”

“Because they’re fucking children in the field.”

“Without a paddle,” Maria finished. “You got them to regroup and get out with minimal losses.”

“I will pay you to take me off this assignment.” You pleaded.

“This is coming all the way from the top, Y/N.” She stood. “So suck it up and let’s go make this official.”

You followed Maria to the elevator, biting your tongue the whole time. You should have just promised to do your debrief tomorrow and gone home to your quiet, cozy apartment and hot shower and pint of ice cream and extended version Lord of The Rings, but nooooooo. Maria had shanghai-ed you off the Quinjet the moment you'd touched down post-mission and because it was Maria you'd been too stupid to insist on coming back tomorrow

This had to be a karmic punishment of some kind.

How were you going to get out of this?

The elevator slid to a smooth stop and you stepped off just behind Maria.

And into chaos.

You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them.

Chaos.

"Hill!" Tony shouted, spinning a few feet off the ground. "You made it! Guess who's here? Thor!"

"Are they...are they all drunk?" You asked Maria, who's jaw clench could have ground glass.

"Thor always brings Asgardian mead with him. We should go - they'll be useless til they sober up." She looked like she was about to bite her tongue off. "I specifically told them not to do this so they could meet you..."

"Remind me how this job is a promotion again?" You hissed, backing away towards the elevator. Maybe you could stealth your way out of here...

There was a loud bang from overhead and you hit the floor with the weight of a full body on top of you while the Avengers - Earth's mightiest assholes - laughed.

"Y/N," Clint rolled off you and helped you to your feet. "Sorry."

You pushed to your feet and glanced at the hole in the ceiling. "Were you...were you in the vents?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea at the time."


	2. Avenger Wrangler (P.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! It's the return of the wrangler! What shenanigans will you have to deal with now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Look mom! I’m having a mugshot taken!

You snarled as you answered the phone. "Someone better be dead or dying."

It was your one night off this week and you had been very, very happily dreaming your way through the wee hours of the morning.

Until your phone had rung. The one that you weren't supposed to be getting any calls on, because it was your night off.

"Suh-Sorry to disturb you ma'am." You pinched the bridge of your nose as the terrified S.H.I.E.L.D. agent squeaked. "But..."

"Is someone dead or dying?"

"Not yet, ma'am?" The tone went up at the end and you forced yourself to sit up and blink.

3:15 a.m. your alarm clock informed you and you wanted to groan.

Pulling back on the need - the driving, overwhelming urge - to threaten someone, you sighed and asked the question "What'd they do now?"

"Barnes and Wilson have been arrested, ma'am."

You blinked, feeling stupid. "Excuse me?"

"They've been arrested, ma'am."

"For murder?" You were moving now, fumbling your way into a pair of cargo pants and one of Stark's lightweight tac shirts. You pinned the phone between your ear and shoulder as you swept your hair up into a ruthlessly efficient knot. "Did someone trigger the Winter Soldier?"

"No ma'am...for public intoxication and indecent exposure."

You would swear that they could hear your teeth grinding from the Avengers' tower. "What?"

"Shall I send a car for you, ma'am?"

"Yes." You snapped open your closet and strode to your weapons cache, unlocking it with an eyescan and thumbprint. "Please put a STRIKE team on standby as well."

"Do you think that they'll require the use of force?"

"No," You drew on your leather jacket and shoved your feet into your boots, grabbed your keys, and strode out of the apartment. "But I might."

" **Look mom! I’m having a mugshot taken!** " 

You groaned as Barnes gave the camera another 'blue steel' impression. "Look, captain..."

"Im not just handing them over to you." Captain Hargreeves seemed like a decent enough guy., and you felt a little sorry for him. "They were drunk, exposed themselves -"

"To the paparazzi, not a bus full of nuns," You felt compelled to point out.

"and," He continued. "The one with the metal arm took a swing at one of the cops who showed up to deal with him. They're getting booked."

"He probably just tripped over his drunk fucking feet." You snarled, and ran a hand over your hair in an attempt to calm yourself down. Your one day off. "Look, that -" You stabbed a finger towards Barnes "Is James Buchannon Barnes. If the Winter Soldier decided to take a swing at one of your guys, drunk or not, we'd be looking at a pile of dead cops. You seem like a sensible man," You watched his chest inflate a little with the ego stroke, "but Barnes and Wilson are a headache - no scratch that - they're the mother of all migraines. You and your officers don't need to deal with them. Let's just keep this off the official wires, and we'll write you an incredibly generous donation. I'll even get Stark to toss in high-grade body armor for your precinct." It was a good deal, and you both knew it. "What do you say?"

Three hours later...

You watched Natasha Romanoff saunter into the kitchen and stop dead in her tracks as you smiled and lifted another mug of coffee to your lips. Of all the Avengers, she was the one you could tolerate most. Probably because you didn't try to bullshit her, and she didn't try to bullshit you.

Hell, sometimes she even helped you in talking the team off whatever ledge of stupidity they climbed up on that week.

"What did...what happened?" 

Didn't mean it wasn't satisfying to watch her gape like a fish at the sight of Wilson collapsed over the countertop looking like he'd done a couple rounds with the champ, or Barnes, who was practicing chair acrobatics while whistling tunes from the forties.

"Shhhhhh..." Wilson hissed, holding the side of his head "Not so loud."

Barnes was leaning back in his chair, balancing on two legs, then one, then two again. "I don't know what you're complaining about."

"Oh god." Wilson dropped his head on the counter. "Shut up. Everyone. Stop. Talking." He scowled at Barnes. "Not all of us have super metabolisms, asshole. I have a mother of a hangover and I haven't even gone to sleep yet. How? Why?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk." You said, saccharine sweet as Barnes dropped all four legs back to earth with all the grace of a water buffalo. "But that is why no one but Thor and the Reckless Idiots drinks Asgardian Mead."

Nat snorted. "That sounds like a band name."

"I'll have to get t-shirts made." You took another sip of the coffee - the live-saving, life-giving, delicious coffee. Tony might be the most annoying asshole ever, but god did he get the good stuff. "Don't forget, you have mission prep today, Wilson."

Wilson groaned. 

"And you both owe me for keeping those photos out of the press."

Nat's eyes lit up. "Photos?"

"Mhm." You murmured, enjoying the fear in Wilson's eyes and the quiet promise of retribution in Barnes'. "Yep. Couldn't have that going wide. The fangirl fainting epidemic alone..."

"What...what did we do?" Wilson whispered.

"Yeah," Nat grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee before plunking down next to Wilson with a commiserating pat on the back. "Spill."

You shook your head. "Oh no. No, I'm holding on to those. And the next time," You promised, draining the last of the coffee. "the next time anyone on this team ruins my day off, I will go nuclear."

"You wouldn't." Barnes challenged as you set your mug in the sink.

You lifted an eyebrow, a classic 'oh won't I?' and had the distinct pleasure of watching his face turn sour, as if he'd just eaten a warhead. "Try me, punk." You pointed a finger at Wilson. "Mission prep. Ten o'clock. Don't make me come find you."

Wilson's whimper was music to your ears as you strolled to the elevator without looking back.


	3. Sleep It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your arrival at work is met with blood, blood everywhere...

Alright. Maybe being the Avengers Wrangler wasn't the worst job in the world.

You could admit that to yourself, right? 

Sure, You conceded to yourself, as the elevator moved from the lobby up towards the living quarters.

You'd kill someone before you'd admit it (naturally) but Earth's Mightiest Assholes had kind of grown on you.

Like a fungus.

But it seemed like they were finally hitting their groove as a team. Less infighting - though the prank wars were reaching legendary status - and hey, last week they'd taken down three Hydra bases without more than a couple snippy comments back and forth. That was progress.

And now that they knew you weren't a person to be fucked with, courtesy of two legendary pranks yourself and going nuclear, as promised, when Sam's last date night had ruined your night off - again - you didn't have to work nearly as hard to keep them in line.

Just thinking about all the social media responses to those indecent exposure pics had you chortling into your pumpkin spice latte. Yeah, worth it.

Your amusement lasted a whole one-point-none seconds as you stepped off the elevator and saw the swathe of blood across the floor, the edge of the counter, and the wall leading towards the personal quarters.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"Yes, Y/n?"

"Who bled all over the kitchen?" You tried to recall if there were any ops sanctioned for the last twenty four hours and came up blank. Not good. Not good at all.

"Sergeant Barnes, Y/n. He assured me he would be fine, and declined medical assistance."

"Idiot." You growled. "F.R.I.D.A.Y? Override code 'Wrangler'. New rule: no one bleeds all over the place without medical being informed."

"You bet, boss."

You followed the trail - seriously, it looked like someone had dragged a dead body down the hall - to Barnes' room and held your hand up to the scanner. Without waiting, you opened the door...

And saw Barnes grab at the towel wrapped around his hips. "Jesus, ever hear of knocking?"

Your eyes moved over him, assessing. No blood, post shower. Pinking scar tissue on his stomach though. "Ever hear of cleaning up after yourself, asshole?"

"You see something you like?" He fired back and you realized you were staring a hole in his bare naked chest.

You jerked a thumb back towards the hallway. "You're not dead - yay - but what the fuck, Barnes? The hallway looks like a goddamn slasher flick, and there are no ops on the docket right now."

His jaw tightened. "I ran into some Hydra goons."

"And you didn't call it in?"

"Is that pumpkin spice?"

"Don't deflect," You turned, placing one hand out in protest as he reached for your coffee so you could extend your other arm and protect the sweet, seasonal treat. "It's mine. F.R.I.D.A.Y also said you didn't go to medical."

"Snitch."

"I heard that," F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice made both of you jump.

"So you ran into some Hydra goons, got shanked up real good and decided to...sleep it off without telling anyone?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Or asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call a clean up crew?" Your eyes narrowed. "How badly were you cut up, Barnes? Don't you dare fibbing me on this. I'll get Rogers if I have to."

Barnes stuck out his tongue and made a face like the mature, responsible adult he was.

"Fine," You snarled, "F.R.I.D.A.Y, put me through to Rogers' room. Right now." You waited just long enough for the comm line to open. "Rogers, get your star spangled ass over here."

"Y/n? What's wrong?"

Barnes' glare would've made a lesser agent quake, shut the hell up, and say nothing.

You matched his glare with one of your own. "Barnes got jumped by Hydra last night and got stabbed a whole bunch and decided to sleep. it. off."

There wasn't a response on the comm line because you could already hear Rogers running down the hall. He stopped outside Barnes' room, staring at the floor leading to the kitchen in shock. "Sweet fucking Jesus, Buck. What the hell?"

"Tattletale." Barnes managed to reach his metal arm around you and grab the coffee. He drained it in one go and you saw red. 

Must. Remain. Rational. 

You could go downstairs to the coffee cart and get another one.

It would take you five minutes, tops.

"And he told F.R.I.D.A.Y. not to alert anyone." You had the indescribable pleasure of watching Barnes step back under the weight of Steve's eyebrows of disappointment. "Well, I'll let you two hash this out while I get environmental services up here. In the meantime, Barnes, you're grounded."

"Grounded? What do you mean grounded?" Barnes yelped as you walked away. "Don't look at me like that, Rogers. How many times did I pick your skinny ass up after you picked a fight with some mook who was twice your size?"

"And you also told me I was a dumbass every. single. time. Stabbed, Buck? Really?"

You let their voices fade behind you as you made for the elevators. Maybe you'd really treat yourself and get whipped cream on this one....


	4. The Director (Avengers Wrangler/AoS/Avengers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so remember how Fury technically retired? And Coulson was the Director for that not-so-short-stint while SHIELD operated in secrecy?  
> Yeah....

It was Team Pasta night at the Avengers tower and you swore to god, you'd never heard so much bitching in your life when you'd announced the mandatory team building night. But you'd gritted your teeth, coaxed, blackmailed, bribed, and put an absolute shit-ton of takeout from Carbone's in the village.

You'd even - somewhat begrudgingly - allowed Thor to bring Asgardian mead. But you'd made it abundantly clear to him that if anyone got drunk and up to shenanigans, you would make him pay by giving Darcy his phone number.

Now, two hours in, the entire team was sprawled across the common area and doing exactly what the point of the night had been - bonding.

It almost made you sentimental as the caterers cleared away what little food was left.

You were pretty sure Rogers and Barnes had hollow legs, because unlike the mere mortals that made up the rest of the team, they'd chowed hard and fast and were now engaged in conversation with Thor, exchanging war stories while the rest of the Avengers carb-coma-ed on the couches and floor, occasionally groaning, with Clint offering a 'worth it' when Sam questioned the decision to eat three slices of tiramisu.

You had to turn and hide your smile on that one.

"Ah, Volstagg," Thor shook his head as you tuned in to the conversation. "A good friend, and fine warrior. Terrible luck with the ladies. My sister - Hela - killed him when she tried to take over Asgard. A good man."

You realized they were comparing names of the dead.

Morbid weirdos.

"Coulson was a good man." Rogers said. "We lost him when Loki tried to help the Chitauri invade New York."

Wait...what?

"Coulson...As in Phil Coulson?" You asked, drawing the eyes of the entire team.

"Yeah," Rogers asked "You knew him?"

"Bland little man?" Tony asked. "Dating a cellist? Trading cards and all?"

"Sweet car," Barton added.

"Yeah." You said slowly. "You guys know he's, like, not dead, right?"

There was a split second of utter, absolute silence and then the room exploded into a cacophony of noise that threatened to take the roof off the building.

"SHUT UP!" You roared.

They did.

"Phillip J. Coulson is not," You enunciated each word with perfect clarity as you watched comprehension draw across Clint and Natasha's faces at least "dead. At all. He is very much alive. In fact," You continued. "He's the Director of SHIELD."

"I thought SHIELD was HYDRA?" Thor asked.

"It was," Clint offered. "But it wasn't? Kind of? Heard some rumors that some die hards had gone to ground in some of Fury's secret bases. Makes a lot of sense, actually - no one expected Fury to retire, and no one's gonna look for a guy who's supposed to be dead..."

"Classic Fury move," Nat agreed.

"You're telling me," Rogers was not going to let this go you realized, so you pulled out your phone and started scrolling through your insta. "That we didn't find his body after Loki stabbed him?"

"That sounds like Loki," Thor offered. "He does love to stab people."

"Here," You held your phone out. "See? Alive, well, albeit at an undisclosed location and trying to hunt down as much of HYDRA as his team can. He's the Director now."

Your phone was passed around and you might've felt a little bit guilty for ripping off the band aid so bluntly.

"Well at least that's one less murder Loki committed on Midgard." 


	5. Unidentified Flying Object

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers think something has finally happened to shake your legendary composure and leave you speechless.  
> They're wrong, naturally

"What do we know?" You snapped, stepping into the command room where the team had already gathered.

"Jesus, wear a bell." Tony snapped right back as you'd walked up right behind him. "What are you, a goddamn ghost?"

"I'm your fucking nightmare, Stark. Don't you forget it."

"As if I could." He shuddered. "Pepper is still mad at me, you little narc."

"It's not narc-ing if it's all over your instagram," You pointed out before putting your game face on. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. sent me an alert? Small alien craft breaching the atmosphere above New York? What do we got?"

Sam's smile was all pleasure as he jerked his thumb towards Thor, Steve, Barnes, and Banner. They were clustered around someone you couldn't see thanks to the redonkulous set of shoulders blocking the view. "Looks like you don't know everything after all, y/n. Have your powers finally failed you?"

"Don't make me call your ma."

Sam didn't even snark back, just stepped out of your way with a shit eating grin.

What the hell was going on?

"Ah!" Thor saw you first and turned, making space for you to join the club. "Y/n, this is..."

"Oh my fucking god," You said and wrapped your arms around the blonde woman who'd been staring Steve down. "You didn't tell me you were going to be in town, Danvers!" You let her go and punched her shoulder. "Fucking punk is what you are."

"They know each other." You heard Barnes mutter. "Of course they fucking know each other."

"How did you two meet?" Thor asked brightly.

"Classified." You and Carol grinned at each other at the simultaneous reply.

"It's good to see you, y/n." Carol eyeballed the rest of the team. "Maria told me you got stuck with babysitting duty though. Sucks."

You laughed as the team bristled. "Well considering this is who Fury found to replace your goddamn ass, it is both your fault and a bigger insult to you." You laughed again as she mock growled and reached for you. "So what's up? Kree invasion?"

"Maria asked me to come back for Monica's graduation."

"What? No way - she was just a baby...We're fucking old." You whispered in shock, and then shook it off. "Well, hell, how long are you here for?"

"Hopefully a little while. The universe is currently unimperiled and I haven't had a vacation in yeeaaaars." She looked around the room again. "Thought I'd catch up, grab a beer. Say hi to Nicky."

"As in," Steve blinked. "Nick Fury. You're on a first name basis with the Director."

Carol grinned at him - the same cocky, sure smile that had set a million flyboy hearts aflutter in equal parts fear and attraction. Mostly fear though. "Yup. I was there when he lost the eye. Well, I was adjacent. Not really a long story though."

"There are two of them." Banner's gaze was ping-ponging between the two of you. "They don't look the same, but they...are the same?"

"I thought Fury lost the eye when someone betrayed him?" Sam asked Barton, who nodded.

You and Carol just blinked as you absorbed the statement, and then you were both howling with laughter as you tried to keep each other upright. You saw, through tear-filled eyes, that half the team was taking cautious, baby-steps back from the pair of you.

Ah, you had trained them well.

"Oh my god," You wheezed finally. "I had no idea that was the story he was telling. I swear, Danvers. He's always been a deadpan drama queen...but..." You chortled, held a hand up to your mouth to try and quell another outburst.

"Of course she fucking knows." Sam tossed his hands up. "Why do I bother?"

"Yeaaaah." Carol stretched the sound out. "That's not exactly what happened. He ever mention someone named 'Goose'?"

You started laughing again. "Oh, oh, he was on Talos' Christmas card last year. I have to show you."

"So you are...one of the Avengers?" Thor asked, bravely jumping into the conversation.

"The..." Carol arched an eye at you in question and your shoulders started to shake. 

"Let me provide actual introductions," You said, stepping shoulder to shoulder with Carol as you turned to face your team. "Everyone, this is USAF Major Carol 'Avenger' Danvers - though Fury likes to call her Captain Marvel. Danvers, these are the Avengers, assembled by Nick Fury to 'avenge the earth'. Or at least, that's what he told them." You pointed to them individually now. "You've met Thor and Steve and Barnes already. The pouting one is Sam - don't worry, he'll get over it in a day or two - and the one gaping is Clint Barton. Nat's around here somewhere....You'll like her," You promised. "She's a slightly less crazy version of you."

"But...But there are two..." Banner was still hung up on it.

"Oh, that's Bruce Banner. His alter ego is on the team too. And the man with the hideous goatee is Tony Stark, Howard Stark's kid."

"I'd say nice to meet you all," Carol smirked "But I'm still kinda riding the high of having a team of superheroes named after me." She slapped you on the back. "So, who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?"

"I like her," Thor whispered as she strode to the ginormous bar - because of course Stark put a bar in the command center. "She reminds me of someone I met recently. Valkyrie," He clarified.

You gave him a speculative look. "This 'Valkyrie' into women?"

"Very much so." Thor confirmed and you shared a small moment of perfect understanding.

"Ay, yo! Danvers!" You shouted. "Let me get you some Asgardian mead. You will not believe how much that shit will fuck you up."


	6. Quaking in Your Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take your first vacation in yeaaarrs....

You tilted your head up, drinking in the sunlight as the ocean - Pacific, not Atlantic - crashed along the beach.

It was day two of your vacation, and honestly? You were kinda surprised no one had called you with a hot mess on their hands.

Not that you were complaining - you just hadn't been able to fully relax until this morning when it really all sank in.

You were on vacation, baby!

You'd already spent the morning surfing - something a little harder to come by on the east coast - and now you were soooo ready to go do some classic California tourism. Los Angeles was your oyster for the next four days, and you had plans.

And that was when you heard the shouting and felt the tremor.

Earthquake?

No, you realized as you saw people fleeing the pier. No, not an earthquake.

Stupid S.H.I.E.L.D training, you grumbled, running towards the disturbance. Stupid morals and ethics and values. This was supposed to be vacation.

You drew closer and swore as you watched the dark-haired young woman use a vibrational wave to slam a man into one of the pier's pillars. "Hey! Let him go!" You didn't have your gun - vacation, part of you cried - but you used your full 'federal agent' voice.

The woman shot you a quick look. "This isn't any of your business."

"I work for the Avengers, so yeah, it is."

She blinked at that. "Huh. Okay, I did not see that one coming."

"You gonna let up on that frequency or are you planning to take down the whole pier?" You asked, raising your eyes to the wooden planks above your heads. "There's a lot of people up there who really didn't do anything to you."

"Shit." She lowered her arm. "Shit, I wasn't...he was mugging that couple," She gestured towards the crowd that was still fleeing.

"Local vigilante, huh?" You asked. "What's your deal? Inhuman? Experiment? Alien? Grunge baby?" You tacked the last one on with pointed scan of her outfit.

"I'm...I've been trying to stay off the radar." She was looking at you with a quizzical expression that was honestly adorable under the layers of dark make up and dank, unwashed street person vibe. "You're really not surprised by this."

You shrugged. "I was supposed to be on vacation, if that helps. What's your name?"

"D...Call me Quake."

You just raised one eyebrow.

"That's all you're getting," She said, tipping her chin upwards with a defiance that you recognized. 

"You're former S.H.I.E.L.D. aren't you?" You sighed.

"How did you -"

"You trained with Melinda May." You gestured to her stance. "Body language is a dead giveaway." You turned, throwing your hands up in the air. "That makes you not my problem, officially. I'm going back to vacation. Try not to kill anyone before May finds you."


	7. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are very, very careful about how much of your not-work life you talk about with Earth's Mightiest Assholes.  
> You are even more careful about how much you talk about your work life when you're off the clock.  
> Or, the one where the Avengers ruin your first date in months.

You were careful.

You didn't let anyone see you making your preparations. You'd even picked a fight with Wilson in the living room on your way out the door, just to make sure everything seemed completely normal.

Just another run-of-the-mill kind of day at the Tower, yup. Nothing to see here, hero-folks.

Maria was covering the emergency line as a favor to you, and that meant you could turn your phone actually off as you started to get ready in your room several floors below the Avengers' living space. It wasn't much, but it was rent-free, and you'd acknowledge that while it occassionally made it hard to walk away from work, it was definitely convenient.

Especially since you were supposed to be meeting your first date in months in a little less than an hour.

You swapped your casual tac wear for black jeans and a dressy top, let your hair down out of it's standard messy bun, and spent too many minutes applying just the barest amount of eyeliner, shadow, and mascara before swiping on a confident shade of red lipstick.

You grabbed your clutch and your leather jacket and called it good. 

The elevator ride down to the lobby was empty and smooth and quick, and you were almost starting to feel like you'd make it out of the building this time...

Which was when the elevator doors opened to the lobby and you found yourself standing nose-to-chest with Rogers.

"Move." You ordered, hopes of a clean getaway dashed, and he took a big step back, enough for you to realize that he wasn't alone. Internally, you groaned as you saw the King of Wakanda and his bodyguard standing there. Barnes too, you realized. Because of course he was. What came out of your mouth was, "Apologies your highness."

"It's nothing." T'Challa said in that voice that was - in your mind - the heir to Obama. "We were in your way. You look lovely, as always," He added smoothly.

You couldn't fault the man for manners, but you really needed to get a move on. "Well, have a good night," You brushed by the group.

"You're not coming up? T'Challa just got here," Steve asked in confusion.

"Nope, nope. Got a...thing. Maria's on call tonight. Sure she's already waiting for you. Brief me in the morning." You added the last with a little of your usual snap, but saw Barnes was studying your face with an intensity that made you acutely aware of how you never wore makeup at work. "Bye."

By the time you reached the restaurant, you'd managed to calm yourself down enough to smile - warmly - at your date.

Tom was a doctor, which was pretty much perfect, given that it meant you could be pulled away for work and not have him getting cranky with you, because it was the same for him. Both of you lived in shifts, in on-calls, for demanding, stressful jobs that you could only talk so much about.

You'd met at one of Pepper's charity galas and bonded immediately over the terrible state of the American healthcare system.

You couldn't remember the last time someone - a potentially romantic someone - had made you laugh so hard, or so much.

Several weeks of messaging later, it was the first time you were going on an actual date together, and you'd opted for food neither of you had to cook in a quiet sushi joint in Midtown.

You were halfway through your Dragon roll when you noticed a disturbance behind the thick planters that blocked visibility to the back of the restaurant.

"Excuse me," You said. "Be right back."

You left your cute, sexy, date and strolled casually back there just in time to see Wilson and Rogers finish up their little slap-fight, hissing words back and forth too low for you to hear.

"What. The. Fuck."

It would've been comical how quickly their heads snapped up at the sound of your voice.

"Hi, y/n." Rogers tried. "Fancy seeing you here?"

Sam just sighed and shook his head.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed, feeling as mean as a tomcat.

"We knew something was up," Sam confessed. "We wanted to see what you were up to."

"We?" You asked, demanding more information. "Also, have you been here the whole time? Go home - it's been like two hours, you peeping fucking toms."

"You were acting weird all day," Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Shifty. Shiftier," He corrected. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Uh huh." You weren't buying it. "You wanted to see if you could find something to blackmail me with."

Sam flushed, but Rogers softened. "You're a pain in the ass," America's Ass told you. "But you're also really good at your job, and you're...you're part of the team. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

"Bucky saw you all dolled up," Sam offered. "And he said your heartrate was skyhigh. He was convinced something was wrong, and we all realized that it had to be pretty bad if you were putting on warpaint," He used your term for makeup, which would have made you smile if your stomach wasn't sinking like a lead balloon. "And running out of the Tower."

You pinched the bridge of your nose and told the brewing headache in your skull to fuck off. "One. Goddamn. Night. One night! Is that too much to ask? Jesus Christ on a cracker," You swore. "I should've known my first date in months would get ruined by you...you..."

You weren't sure what word you would have used if you hadn't heard a crash and a shout from your table. "Stay here," You told the captains as you went running.

Barnes was bracing his hands on the table, looming menacingly over Tom. A broken plate - and several wasted sushi rolls - lay on the floor. Your date was clearly terrified under the full weight of the Winter Soldier stare. "What do you want with y/n?" Barnes asked in a voice that was no less a demand for its quietness, and you realized he was repeating the question.

"James!" You snapped, using his real name and yup, those icy eyes snapped to you real fast, taking in your anger and general state of pissed off-ness as he backed away, hands - gloved, thank god - up. "What the hell?"

"Yo...you know this guy?" Tom stammered as you drew even with them.

You had a split second to drink in the rest of the details and stitch this up quick. "Yeah. Sorry, Tom. Tom, this is James - my...ex. James, this is Tom, my date." You placed an emphasis on the last word. "James, a minute?"

You dragged him back behind the plants where Steve and Sam were sniggering like the giant children they were.

"All of you," You whisper-hissed. "Are permanently on my shit list now. I mean it." You added as Sam went to open his mouth for a wisecrack. "Shut it Wilson, or I'll invite your cousin Wade to come stay over the holidays." You forced a slow, long breath out of your nostrils, searching for calm. "Get the fuck out of here before you blow this up any more than it already is. And if you say a single fucking word," You threatened with a finger raised. "to anyone, your lives won't be worth living." You pointed that finger towards the back exit. "Go."

You waited long enough to be sure they actually were slinking off before you returned to the table.

"I am so, so sorry," You apologized, opening up your clutch and tossing a few generous bills on the table to cover the damages. "I had no idea he would do that. He was always a little jealous when we were dating - " Gag " but I had no clue he'd show up here. I should...I should go."

"Hey," Tom's voice was sympathetic and it made you feel like scum, even if it was your job to lie to protect the Avengers. "We've all got a few crazy exes, right? And no harm, no foul. Well," He said, glancing down at the scattered sushi rolls. "Almost no harm."

You shut the door to your room behind you and grinned, gave in to the impulse and did a little happy dance.

The light next to your bed came on and you almost screamed.

Wilson and Rogers were snoring on your bed - Rogers was the little spoon, naturally. In the chair next to the nightstand, Barnes was leveling a measuring gaze at you.

"Sweet Mary," You clutched at your chest. Your heart was racing like a Samba line in Rio during Carnival. "What...Do you all want to end up even deeper on my shit list? It's two o'clock in the morning."

"We wanted to make sure you got home okay." Barnes jerked his thumb at the two idiots sawing logs next to him. "Steve insisted. He's like that."

You glowered, and then coughed. Loudly.

As Rogers and Wilson started awake, you crossed your arms over your chest and leveled your own version of the eyebrows of disappointment at them. You thought you might've seen a smile at the corner of Barnes' mouth, but put it away to deal with the more pressing issue.

"Do you," You asked, including Barnes in that sweeping statement "Have any idea how much time I spend covering up after you assholes? Hmm?"

"A...A lot?" Sam guessed, rolling to his feet with a big stretch and a yawn.

"You're damn right." You set your clutch down and shrugged out of your leather jacket. "And the only thing I ask is some semblance of a personal life when I leave this hellish building on my own time. Not that any of you appreciate it," You continued. "Given the number of times I've gotten called in on days off, holidays, birthdays..."

"We meant well."

"So did Oppenheimer." You grumbled as you were subjected to three sets of puppy-dog eyes. You knew Steve meant it. Sam about half-meant it. Barnes was just a dick though. You sighed and jerked a thumb towards the door. "I'm too tired for this shit. Get out."

They filed out and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the slump of Steve's shoulders. The man really was a reckless idiot version of a golden retriever. Barnes paused in the doorway though.

"Were you able to salvage the night?" He asked, uncharacteristically sincere.

You smiled and shut the door in his face.


	8. Board Games

"Say it!" You demanded.

"Never." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "You have to be cheating!"

You grinned. "Or I'm just that much smarter than you, Wilson. Now, say the magic words or I'll tell Cap who really put that red sock in with his tidy whities."

Wilson pouted, but you weren't about to budge. You were six weeks into the lockdown and you knew the minute you caved to anyone it would all go downhill from there.

The game you were playing with Wilson? A distraction to keep him and Barnes from killing each other over the second to last pop tart package. The last one was Nat's - no one was stupid enough to take that one, thank goodness.

The cleaners weren't coming in to work (though you and Tony had been adamant they receive full pay), and you would have hated to have cleaned up all the blood and guts yourself.

It was surprisingly easy to manage the Avengers right now, even if you had to lay down some ground rules hard and fast at the start of all of this. Namely, you had executive veto power, no news on the living room tv, and everyone did their own dishes.

And laundry.

Which was why your shit-eating grin was staring Wilson down over the popular boardgame from your childhood.

"I'm waiting," You waggled your fingers and actually heard the grinding of Sam's back teeth.

"You sunk my battleship."


	9. Bloodstains + BINGO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week eight of lockdown  
> Laundry  
> Boredom  
> Bloodshed  
> BINGO

Week eight of lockdown.

Eight.

Weeks.

It was starting to wear a little thin, even with all the amenities of the tower at your disposal. Nothing terrible, just the slow grating along your nerves feeling of sharing living space with the Avengers non-stop.

You might murder someone if it meant you could leave the tower for an hour or two.

At least you'd gotten F.R.I.D.A.Y. to issue an Avengers ban on your floor - the A.I. was quickly becoming your favorite member of the team as she now simply refused all Avengers requests to access the level.

So there was at least one place in the tower where you couldn't walk into a conversation like the one happening right now in the kitchen.

"I'm telling you," Clint was insisting to an eagerly listening Barnes. "Cold water. Dish soap. Hydrogen peroxide. Wet, scrub, rinse. No more blood."

Nat shook her head, breaking off a piece of her pop tart and popping into her mouth with a sharp smacking sound of her lips. "Nhm. That only works if it's still wet though."

"So what do you do if it dries?" Barnes was paying avid attention and you honestly expected him to whip out a notebook and start scribbling this all down.

"Toothpaste." You shrugged as the three assassins stared at you. "It's cheap, it works, and you can buy it almost anywhere in the world."

"Huh." Clint considered.

"Yeah, huh." Nat appraised you. "Get a lot of dried blood out of clothes, y/n?"

"I was a tactical operative before I got assigned babysitting duty." You reminded them. "You know they don't just let anyone watch you idiots, right? Also, female." You and Nat shared an eyeroll at Barnes' blank look.

"Periods, Buck," Clint offered helpfully. "She means periods."

"Is that...harder to get out?"

You glanced at Nat, both of you weighing, before you shrugged. "I mean...no? Not usually."

"It's just inconvenient." Nat added. "We were comparing numbers," She told you as you scooted past Barnes towards the fridge, remembering the point of coming here had been to steal some of the leftover pizza from last night's Movie Night. "From back in the day. Then we kinda got sucked into shoptalk."

"You guys should make up a BINGO board." You muttered.

"That is an amazing idea!" Clint clapped. "Yes, I'm in! Assassins' BINGO!"

You groaned and resisted the urge to facepalm as you pulled the pizza box out of the fridge. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I like it," Nat smiled at you and then frowned at the pizza. "Ugh. Olives and pineapple..."

"Sweet and salty. To match my winning personality." You fired back as you tore a piece free. "But seriously, you can't make up a BINGO board. Executive Veto. You'll give Wilson too many ideas."


	10. Are You Decent?

"I will find you," You muttered to yourself, running your hands through your hair as you stared down at the files spread across your floor. "I will find you and then I will fucking destroy Senator Ross the next time he puts his smug little grin on his smug ugly mug..."

"Y/n? F.R.I.D.A.Y. says she's worried - she's never heard you talk to yourself for this long." Maria's voice from the door had you looking up with a snarl. "Are you decent?" Even as the question was being asked, the door was opening inwards, Maria taking a half step into the room.

"Morally? No. But I am wearing pants, if that's what you're asking."

"Thank you for that visual." Maria's eyes moved over the files. "Did a file cabinet throw up in here? You know Stark's digitized, like, everything, right?"

You rubbed your hands over your eyes. "I know. I spent all night looking at them and now when I see a digital screen or projection, my eyes refuse to process it. So I'm going old school."

"Went that well with Senator Ross, huh?"

"He's infuriating and I'm going to crush him like a worm the next time I see him." You swore, feeling rage burn through your veins. "Overblown pompous douchebag senators who don't realize the Avengers are actually people might be my villain origin story, Hill."

When she said nothing you looked up to see her standing there, gloating and smug with her arms crossed and that little 'I knew it' smile on her face.

"What?"

"You care about them."

You snorted. "It's, like, literally my job."

"Nooo," Maria stretched it out, and man, the smugness was getting on your nerves. "You actually care - you stayed up all night looking for a way to push back on Ross' proposal."

"The team can't be effective the way he wants to implement oversight." 

"Uh huh."

"And what was Ross thinking? Coming in here like that and talking to them like they're children? And if he just expected Rogers - of all people, Rogers - to sign off on it without sitting there and literally reading every last word..." You growled. "I don't think I've ever appreciated Barnes more than yesterday. Rogers was ready to pummel Ross into the ground, and there's no way I could have stopped him." You continued venting. "These are explosive and delicate personalities for fuck's sake - you don't just stroll in and drop a goddamn bomb like this shitty oversight proposal in their laps."

"So this is a purely professional reaction?"

You fixed Maria with one of your meanest glares. You knew it was one of your meanest because it could stop Barnes and Wilson mid-fight.

She laughed. "What's the plan, y/n?"

"Pick apart Ross' entire political career and blackmail him into mothballing this stupid ass proposal."

"You should get Nat to help you with this."

You shook your head. "No. I'm going to handle this. I'm their handler - this is what I do." You glanced at your coffee mug, sitting precariously on the edge of your bed. "After more coffee."

"I'll order breakfast," Maria offered. "And you can walk me through what you have so far."


	11. The Biggest Troll

It takes you all of five minutes into the job to realize Steve Grant Rogers is the world's biggest troll.

You're not sure why exactly everyone else seems to miss it.

It's not like he goes out of the way to hide it.

It's just that people have expectations about how quickly they expect a super soldier from the forties to adapt to modern life. And those expectations are usually low.

So you can't exactly fault Steve for fucking with them.

You'd probably do the same thing in his shoes to be honest.

So you say nothing when Steve innocently asks Nat to help him understand how the toaster works. Or asking Stark to explain wi-fi. Or making Clint explain the function of a rubber duck.

He keeps it relatively low key in the tower, probably because you all live there.

But then he discovers Bill Murray.

Not Bill Murray acting in a movie. Just Bill Murray and his insane celebrity antics.

He'll lift something impossibly heavy but only when only children are watching and put it down before their parents turn around.

He says things like 'aww shucks' and 'gosh darn' in interviews. One time you even saw him scuff his shoe like a bashful kid on prom night.

He steals fries from other tables at restaurants and tells the diners no one will believe them.

And because he's Steve Grant Rogers, he's right. No one will believe them - it's Captain America.

You can admire the genius simplicity to it - Captain America, the living breathing embodiment of truth, justice, and apple-pie americana doesn't actually exist except in the public's minds-eye, sculpted very carefully by a number of PR flacks who really don't get the credit - or the crap - they deserve.

Steve Rogers on the other hand, is a real person.

He swears like a soldier, loves terrible puns, can eat his way through a bakery - and has on more than one occasion. He loves fucking with people, especially his people, and he charges into most fights with all the untrammeled aggression and righteousness of an angry chihuahua.

You feel only sympathy for Bucky Barnes, because the world isn't at war right now and you can barely keep him out of fights with racists and homophobes and fascists.

Not because you don't also want to get into fights with those guys, because Steve is absolutely right to throat punch Nazis, but because it's your job to wrangle Earth's Mightiest Heroes. If it were up to you, you'd drop Steve off at one of these Proud Boy rallies and pick him up in an hour or two.

It's not until the PR team flags his twitter account that the jig is up (he replied to a homophobic preacher that if gays make him vomit, he should try not deep throating so far).

Twitter breaks in six minutes and twenty three seconds and Steve grins for the rest of the week.


	12. Brooklyn, Queens, and Stark is SO DEAD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More avengers wrangler non-sense, with an appearance from our very own neighborhood spiderman

You find out about Spiderman on accident.

"Tony, what's this about you having an intern?" You asked, half-not-looking as you walked into the lab. "We've got a school in Queens calling about this, and I think they think someone's playing a prank on them..."

And that was when you looked up and saw Peter Parker - in the spider suit, but with no mask - chilling on the ceiling of the lab. 

You blinked.

"Ah, uh, about that." Tony rubbed the back of his head. "Y/n, this is..."

"The friendly neighborhood Spiderman." You said and your face was totally blank as you just stared at the boy. "Spiderman is..."

"Peter Parker," Peter had offered, a genuine puppy-dog eagerness on his face. "Gotta say, I've heard so much about you from Mr. Stark. He says you're really really good at your jo-"

You were already turning to face Tony. "THIS is who you brought to Germany?"

Tony put his hands up as if that would protect him from the impending explosion.

"You brought a FUCKING TEENAGER TO A SUPERHERO FIGHT? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"He was super useful," Tony offered and then literally cringed under the weight of your stare. "He was fine!"

"Yeah!" Parker chimed in. "And honestly, it was pretty cool -"

"You," You leveled your gaze in his direction. "Stop talking. Get off the ceiling." You spun, pinned Tony again as he was trying to slink away and put distance between the two of you. "You're dead, Stark." Then back to Peter. "How old are you?"

"Uhh...sixteen."

"Oh my god." You rubbed your face with your hands. Nope, you realized. Not a dream. "Tony..."

"I already told Fury he's not allowed anywhere near him. And I upgraded his suit to actually, y'know, protect him." 

"This is...this is..." You took a deep inhale through your nostrils and let it out to a count of ten before you opened your eyes again. "Teenage vigilante running around Queens and you didn't say a goddamn thing. Motherfucker."

"Language," Rogers snarked from the doorway. "What's going on in here?" He looked around, froze as he saw the kid. "You! Queens!"

"Brooklyn!" Parker grinned back. "Sorry about fighting you, Captain, sir..."

You facepalmed. "Does no one have a problem with this?"

Steve shrugged. Tony shrugged. "It's not like I could've stopped him from becoming a vigilante. His odds of survival are much higher with Stark technology backing him up."

"That's true," Parker offered helpfully.

"This is worse than finding out about the Defenders." You muttered.

"The who?" Stark and Steve shared a confused glance. 


	13. PRIDE

Steve Rogers finds out about Pride Month because James Buchannon Barnes is the second biggest troll on the team after Rogers and because someone let him sit down for an interview when you weren't in the room to keep him in line.

So instead, you had to watch the live report on the television like everyone else.

And for about ten minutes, it actually goes okay.

You can tell he's pulling out the Bucky Barnes Charm, and he deflects some of the expected questions about his past with more tact than you thought he'd use.

And then it goes to hell in a hand basket.

"You do realize," The reporter asks "There's a rumor going around that Captain America is in love with you?"

You know, before Barnes even opens his stupid, stupid mouth that everything is going to go to shit because he has that special little gleam in his eye.

"A rumor?" He asks, all innocent. "Are you telling me there are people doubting it?"

The internet has a meltdown and your phone immediately starts going off.

Forty-eight hours later and the internet has yet to recover, which would be amusing if you weren't fielding an absolutely insane number of PR calls, messages, and emails. Like, genuinely - what did they expect you to do? 

It really wasn't a secret that Rogers wasn't straight, not that it really was anyone's business. And shouldn't they be glad for all the free press?

But you hadn't realized til you watched Nat showing Steve all the fanart for upcoming pride month that now took on a distinctly Avengers-themed approach that you realized Steve hadn't been aware of the strides made by the LGBTQIA community since the late thirties.

So now here you sat, pretending to answer emails on your laptop while Nat and Clint and Barnes all scrolled through twitter and tumblr and every other social media platform, explaining that Pride was a thing, and what all the different colored flags meant, and how there was a fucking giant parade in the middle of New York City to celebrate and express and just...be...whoever you were, whoever you loved.

Your eyes were totally not watering as you watched the re-education of Steve Rogers and the tentative, shy delight that slowly spread across his face.

Nope.

It was just particularly dusty in this part of the Tower.

Yup.

"Ooh," Steve said, grabbing Nat's phone and showing Barnes. "I like this one - it's stars and stripes."


	14. Avacados at Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nelson & Murdock come to your rescue

"They're taking her in for questioning," Barnes reported over the comms and the whole team exhaled in a mix of relief and impending fear. "Wilson's little pet parrot-" An indignant hey! from Sam "is going to follow them to the precinct."

They'd really fucked up this time.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely their fault - how were they supposed to know that, in an effort to fund themselves, Hydra would turn to partnering with the local drug ring? And how were they supposed to know that the den of Hydra agents turned dealers was being watched by the local authorities? And that there was going to be a raid by the police the same night, the same time, as they'd planned?

You'd provided the critical distraction - and stalling - needed for the Avengers to make their escape from the line of fire with no one the wiser that Earth's Mightiest Heroes had almost fucked up a perfectly good sting.

The downside?

You might've gotten a little mouthy with the distraction, leading one of the officers to believe you were a previously undocumented member of the gang and were now on your way to the precinct in the back of a squad car.

"Do we...do we call someone?" Barton asked. "Like, do we have a lawyer for this kind of stuff?"

"I think y/n usually calls someone. Barnes? Wilson? What happens when you get dragged off?"

"First of all, Steve," Wilson started. "I resent the implication that Barnes and I know more about this than any of you just because we happen to get arrested more frequently."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Nat sighed. Barton chuckled.

"And second, y/n usually shows up, talks to the big wig. And then we go home."

"Don't forget the part where she chews us a new one." Barnes added helpfully. "And then rats us out to Steve or Fury, depending on what we did."

"She has a law firm card pinned to the board in her office," Bruce offered - he'd stayed behind to work on a new terregenesis synthetic crystal. "Nelson & Murdock? I'll call them. What precinct?"

"We need to work on all of your spy skills." Nat said with disgust as she stirred the diner coffee. "I thought the whole point of putting on our civvies was to blend, guys."

"We're trying." Wilson grouched from the counter seat he'd claimed.

"You're actually looking pretty average, Sam," Nat said and Barnes laughed. "But, Steve, I swear to god, if you don't stop staring a whole through the front of the precinct..."

"I'm keeping an eye out."

"No," Nat chastised. "Barnes and Barton are keeping an eye out. You are giving me a migraine. Clint, how we looking?"

"Oh, not bad," Clint replied from the rooftop of the next building. "Sexy, sure, but not like we're trying too hard." He paused "I could literally hear the eye rolls guys. What did you expect me to say to that? Seriously? We're good though - I can see y/n in front of the desk with those two lawyers. Looks like they're about to walk out the front door."

Two minutes later, you did, hands shoved into your leather jacket and followed by the two lawyers who had shown up not even an hour after Bruce called them. You paused as the fresh night air hit your face, eyes closing for a second as you took a deep inhale and then slowly exhaled.

"Is this guy seriously wearing sunglasses at night?" Barnes asked.

"See the stick he's carrying, Barnes? He's blind." Clint scoffed, and then paused. "Wait, there's something weird about that stick..."

Nat slouched a little deeper in her seat at the window booth of the diner. "Shit. We're made."

And yup. Barton sighed as your eyes traveled the skyline, pinning him and Barnes in seconds before moving along to the diner.

"Are you sure you'll be alright to get home?" The lawyer with the sunglasses asked, obvious concern. "It's not exactly the best neighborhood in New York to be walking through alone at night in."

"I've got friends coming to pick me up."

"If you...look," Concerned Lawyer number two obviously wasn't going to let it go. "I know we don't know you or your story or anything like that, but you really should think about letting us get you a deal for testifying against those guys. This doesn't have to be your life."

Nat blinked. "What? Wait. They think she's a gang member too?"

"He said they don't know her. Did we just...did we just call random lawyers?" Wilson wondered as they all watched you shrug off the attempts by Murdock & Nelson to convince you to at least call an Uber.

"I think the more important thing is, what is it about y/n make everyone assume she's in a gang?" Clint's confusion was palpable. "I'm very disappointed in people's deductive reasoning skills, you guys."

They watched as you finally managed to shake off your over-eager attorneys and when the two men turned to go, you shot the diner a quick look and tapped the comm device in your ear.

"Thank you for calling those lawyers," You said on the open line. "But seriously guys, go home."

"You're not coming with us?" Nat's eyes narrowed on you - you looked like you were about to burst out of your own skin. She'd never seen that kind of tension on you before, not even when Wilson and Barnes really stomped on your last nerve.

You shook your head, fidgeting, and started walking away from the diner. "I need to walk it off. I'll see you back at the tower." And then you turned your comms off, striding into the darkness.

Steve slid Nat a considering look, saw the same expression on Sam's face. "Soo...we're all in agreement?"

Nat nodded. Sam nodded.

They would make sure you got home okay.

Three blocks. That was how much space they'd given you as you walked through Hell's Kitchen at two in the goddamn morning.

They should have just shoved you in the van, Steve swore as he ran for the alleyway you'd turned down ten seconds ago. Because now they were all

converging on your location while your comms - turned on again with the pulpy sound of being struck - broadcasted the sounds of you fighting for your life.

There was surprisingly less swearing than he'd thought there'd be.

Legs pumping, he swung the corner in time to see you roll with the grip your assailant had on your arm and use his own momentum to slam him into a dumpster.

Wait, why was your assailant wearing a red suit? With a helmet with horns?

He hadn't realized he'd stopped running until Wilson slammed into his back.

"Holy shit." Wilson panted as the rest of the team caught up, staring at you as you and your attacker took it up a notch. The blows you traded were faster, more vicious, and the whole team winced as one backhanded billy club swing caught your shoulder with enough force to drive you to a knee.

"Goddamn it, Murdock," You growled, pushing back to your feet. "I'm not fucking around here. Stop." You said, closing the distance again and managing to slam your palm into his solar plexus with breath-stealing force. "Hitting." A brutal upswing of your elbow to the head left the red-suited man staggering backwards. "Me." You panted.

The team stared.

"I'm not in a fucking gang, I don't need to be rescued." You were spitting the words now while the masked man shook his head, recovering slower from that last hit. "I'm not one of the bad guys. You got called to bust me out because I had your card on the board in my office and my coworkers are well-intentioned idiots." Your tone sharpened considerably as he moved towards you. "Matthew Michael Murdock, I'm giving you five seconds to get your shit together, you concussed moron."

He paused. "Wait. You know me? How did you..."

You eye rolled. "I work for the Avengers, dumbass. It's part of my job to know the local vigilante scene. Big fan, actually. Love the suit. You should probably stop lying to your best friend though, and do a lot less of the killing people - the DA's office would appreciate it, and also probably your dry-cleaner too."

The man - Murdock, as in the lawyer? Steve wondered - pulled his helmet off and, yup, what do you know? The blind lawyer was looking at you with the same poleaxed expression the rest of the team knew all too well. "Who are you?"

"You literally just got me out of jail," You pointed out. "You know my name."

"Not..." He shook his head as if that would clear it, and make this whole night make sense. Steve could only sympathize. "Not what I meant."

"Oh, I know, but that's all you're getting. So, are you going to let the Avengers finish walking me home," You asked, the picture of polite conversationalist, despite the blooming bruise on your cheek and rip in your tac pants. "or do I have to keep kicking your ass?"

When he didn't answer, you faced your team with a big grin on your face.

"Hey guys, nice to see you caught up. Finally. We're definitely going to be working on sprinting in training next week."


	15. Never Have I Ever

"Never have I ever..." You pause for a second, thinking. You're two drinks in and man, you're glad you have the liver of your Irish Catholic father because Tony's latest bartending robot is not fucking about with the alcohol content. "Said the wrong name in bed."

Clint cackles as Nat, Thor, and Barnes take a drink.

"Never have I ever," Bruce is up next, grinning widely. "fainted."

Thor's ears go red, but he drinks. "It was a stressful day, and my hair got cut."

The room explodes into laughter and you feel yourself relaxing deeper into the couch. 

It isn't always like this - it very rarely is, actually - but these are the moments that make the job worth it. When you can sit here and see the team bonding, forging stronger ties. 

And get some quality fun in at their expense of course.

You do know more about them than they do about you.

"Drink up, punk," Barnes nudges Steve, who scowls at him.

"That was a literal lifetime ago, and before the serum. It shouldn't count." Cap pouts, but takes another drink of his own bottle of Asgardian mead. 

"Never have I ever hitchhiked." Nat goes next, and you dutifully take a drink.

"Is this really fair?" Sam asks, tossing his hand to indicate you. "She knows like, literally, everything about all of us. And all we get is little shit like 'hitchhiking'. I demand stories, woman!"

"Never have I ever pouted over a woman," Thor's voice is triumphant.

"Jane Foster." Coughs Stark and everyone laughs as Thor scowls but drinks. "I don't think you quite get this game, God of Thunder."

Thor shrugs and it moves on.

"Alright, alright. Because Bird Brain here does have a point..." Tony narrows his eyes at you. "Never have I ever..."

"Think carefully, Stark," You warn. "Am I really the player in this game you want to start targeting?"

He slaps the Stark grin on his face. "Had to bail superheroes out of jail." He frowns when you don't drink. "Oh come on, you got Barnes and Wilson out of custody like forty-eight hours ago!"

"Out of custody," You raise your glass in a gotcha-toast. "Technically, not bail because they hadn't been processed yet. Because I'm good at my job. Drink up, though, Bruce."

Bruce flushes and takes the world's tiniest sip of his non-alcoholic beer. He's the only one who gets a pass on the juice, for obvious reasons.

"Never have I ever dined and dashed." Barnes goes next with a pointed side eye at Wilson, who grumbles and finishes off his beer before Drunk-E rolls over with a fresh one.

"Never have I ever been attacked by a man in a cat-suit." Wilson shoots back, and his head whips around as you take another drink. "Oh, man, come on! New rule - drinkers have to share the story!"

You roll your eyes, but the team agrees with enough enthusiasm that you realize you might have a tipsy mutiny on your hands, so you nod, and the game goes on.

"Never have I ever," Steve starts, but Barnes leans over and whispers something in his ear. "Never have I ever gotten a tattoo."

You, Nat, Sam, and Bruce all drink.

"Hold up, hold up." Stark insists. "Story rule - what, where, why?"

All four of you groan.

"Spiderweb, inner thigh, lost a bet." Nat grumbles

Sam just shoves his sleeve up to show off his USAF ink.

Bruce flushes a bright and furious red before muttering too quietly to hear.

And then all eyes turn to you and you shrug.

"Which one?" You snort at the looks on their faces, even Barnes'. "Come on, guys, I'm almost always dressed for the office, albeit casually." You admit as Sam snorts. "I'm almost never in the field, on the ground. Why wouldn't I have ink?"

"I only knew about the underboob one," Barnes says as Steve narrows his eyes at him. "Honest."

That comment kicks open a whole other can of worms as everyone is now looking back and forth between the two of you with speculation.

"He walked into the wrong locker room." You point out and Barnes just smiles that charming James Buchannon Barnes smile he saves for the fangirls and says nothing, the jerk. "And you were concussed in the next two minutes, you thawed-popsicle - you can't be sure of what you saw, if anything."

Steve and Sam don't look like they buy it.

"Never have I ever..." You let it hover for a moment and everyone backs the fuck off of the topic. "needed cognitive recalibration."

Everyone drinks except you.

Bruce is up again. "Never have I ever...eaten leftover food from another table in a restaurant."

You and Stark both drink.

And like it always does at certain point, "Never have I ever" gets progressively more risque as the night wears on.

"Never have I ever had sex with someone who's name I didn't know." The room explodes as Steve takes a drink.

"Never have ever...have I ever," Nat corrects, voice beginning to slur. "Sent sexy selfies."

Clint takes a giant drink to catcalls.

"Never have I ever faked an orgasm." Thor laughs as you and Nat both drink, sharing an eyeroll in the process.

"Never have I ever been to an adult toy store." Sam tries to make it all nonchalant but he's laughing at himself a little too hard to pull it off as he drinks.

"Never have I ever been walked in on while having sex." Barnes, Stark, Thor, and Banner all drink to that one and Nat lifts one patented eyebrow in your direction.

You drink and feel your skin - thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol - flush.

"Oh my god," Sam gapes. "She can blush!"

"Is that what they call it when someone turns that shade of embarrassed?" Barnes asks.

"Story, story, story," Stark chants and you push to your feet.

It takes you a minute to stop wobbling. Or maybe it's the room that's wobbling?

"Nope, that's my limit. I'm done for the night." You make your way to the door. "Don't stay up too late, kids." You toss over your shoulder, and head off for bed.


	16. Don't Panic

Most of the time you are a badass.

You barely set foot in the field - you don't have to - and you run herd on the Avengers like it's your job, because, well, it is your job. And while some days that job makes you seriously contemplate murder (like the day Sam used dish soap in the dishwasher, or when Banner hit you in the leg with a night night dart, or any time Tony comes up with a new idea about how to improve artificial intelligence...), you'd like to think you had a pretty good handle on the routine, run of the mill things that happen when one is responsible for several super-powered individuals with no respect for rules, common decency, or self-preservation.

Like getting Barnes and Wilson out of jail before official charges were filed.

Or destroying evidence when Clint goes off the reservation and murders half the yakuza.

Or convincing Peter Parker that yes, he really does need to go to college first.

Easy. Peasy.

You don't even break a sweat anymore, though you do feel obliged to grumble and swear and threaten as a matter of form at this point.You have a reputation to uphold.

You are one of the scariest people on the planet, right next to your once-idol-now-friend Maria Hill. No one outside the Avengers actually knows what you do or who you are, and that's the way it should be.

Which is probably why Barnes and Wilson are looking at you with identical expressions of horror and shock in the dim lighting of the elevator you've all been sitting in for the last two hours.

Because your breath is definitely starting to move into hyper-anxious territory and the palms of your hands are clammy, and oh yup, you are sweating like a nun in a whorehouse on Saturday night. Because after one-hundred and twenty minutes, you are about to lose it.

"I don't like small spaces." You manage to grit the words out, even as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine a big open rooftop patio. Or a field. Or an endless beach.

"Yeah," Wilson says finally in a too-neutral tone. "Yeah, we're getting that."

"Distract me." You order. "The two of you never shut up. Please, talk about something. Anything."

You open your eyes in time to see them exchange a let's-go-for-it-shrug that - if you weren't five seconds away from full on panicking - you would normally try to head off at the pass.

"So what do you think of People's sexiest superhero's alive list?" Sam asks, and he's looking at you like the answer and topic actually matter. It's enough to make you exhale in exasperation, and he keeps going. "I mean, personally, I think Magneto should have won the Silver Fox category hands-down."

You snort.

"Steve was a shoe-in for sexiest." Barnes joins in now and you manage to uncurl one hand, wincing as you pull your nails free of your palms. "No one doubted that. But, really, they went with Stark as the runner up? And have you seen the fanmail that's come in since that?" He made a noise. "I think Pepper might actually hurt someone over this."

"Nah." Your voice is tight, tense, but you do manage to get the words out. "She'll just sick the IRS on the really obnoxious ones. And the editors."

"She would do something like that." Sam smiles.

"Who do you think is the sexiest superhero?" Barnes asks.

Sam snorts. "Puh-lease. Like she's going to say anything other than The Falcon."

You laugh weakly, but you laugh. "No way am I answering that one. Wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. No, twenty." You try to suck in more oxygen, find yourself coming up short. Oh god, oh god, oh god...

Barnes' hand slips into yours and he's sitting right there suddenly. "Five things you can feel, y/n."

"What?" You gasp

"Tell me five things you can feel, right now. Right here." You can tell he's totally serious, and it grounds you a little.

"Uh...your hand." It's the metal one, so it's slightly cooler than flesh, but not by much. Smooth too; you can barely feel where the plates overlap.

"Four more." Sam gives your foot an encouraging kick.

"The floor." It's hard, but it's wood because it's the Tower, and it's Stark's. Something imported, you think. Teak? Bali? "My sweater." It's heavy and wool because it's finally fall and you can walk around outside without wanting to melt. "Uhm..."

"Two more, y/n." Barnes is still watching you, expression unreadable. "Two more, or I'll tell Tony you're afraid of small spaces."

"Fuck you." You snarl, pushing his hand away. "Anger." It curls through your belly, heating you.

Barnes smiles. Sam chuckles. Your gaze drifts to your boots. 

"My feet." Tired, trapped in a shoe for too long. You hadn't been planning on wearing the chunky heels for more than an hour, tops.

"Good." Barnes scooted back across the elevator compartment, kicking your foot carelessly with his own. "Better?"

"Much." You knew your tone was grouchy, but you couldn't help it. It was easier to sink into the comfortable grumpiness and general peevish attitude than think about how much longer you were all going to be sitting here. "Thanks."

"Say it like you mean it," Sam teased.

"Fuck you too Wilson."

"Atta girl." Wilson held his hands up at your snarl "Woman. Atta woman."


	17. A Wrangler to a Knife Fight

"What are you doing?" Barnes screeches as he steps into the kitchen, covering his eyes.

You grin at him as he lowers his arm and continue peeling the sweet potato with the chef's knife. "Cooking. I have this recipe I've been dying to try out and since the docket is clear, I thought I'd give it a go."

You watch as Barnes shudders as you cut another segment of potato skin free and have to choke down on your own laughter, which threatens to bubble over.

"Please..." He genuinely pleads, watching your hands with pain all over that normally-smug face. "Please, just, put. the. knife. down."

"This knife?" You hold it point up. "Why? What's wrong with this knife?"

"Nothing's wrong with the knife," He grumbles. "There's definitely something wrong with you though." He starts muttering in Russian, and you assume it's more bitching.

You let out a chuff of air instead a full bellied chuckle and draw the bread knife out of the butcher's block and begin to saw the sweet potato into chunks with a nonchalant shrug. "It's okay, I was done with that one anyway."

He gapes in open-mouthed horror.

Oh damn. This is going to be so much easier than you thought. He's only seen you use two incorrectly and he looks like he's one step away from a complete and total breakdown.

"You wanna help?" You offer as he grabs at the counter for support. "I have to do the tomatoes too." You place the bowl of romas next to him and then set the cheese grater next to the bowl as his mouth drops open.

Your lip twitches as his eyelid ticks.

"You okay there, Barnes?" You ask, noticing how his breath is coming in pants like a racehorse. "I thought you were all good around sharp objects."

Aand the jig is up - those eyes are are narrowed on you now, not the knives.

"You...you little shit." He growls. "You're just fucking with me."

You shrug, pop a piece of sweet potato in your mouth and chew. "It's okay that it took you so long to figure it out. I only had to get you to do that eyelid twitch thing to win."

"Win?"

"The bet." You call to the A.I. "Hey, Fri? You send that footage to Maria and let her know I'll be taking that reservation at the rooftop grill tomorrow night."

"You got it, boss."

You grin at Barnes and wave your fingers. "Toodles."


	18. Game Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Y'all, Pandemic is a *real* game and it. is. the. devil. In the best way possible. We've started tracking how many rounds it takes for someone to drop the f-bomb LOL

"Shall we play a game?" Nat asks with a sly grin and you groan.

That's how it always begins, because while most of the time, Nat is a reasonable person, she does occasionally love to stir the fucking pot, and nothing does it like game night at the Avengers Tower.

It usually takes an hour to even pick a game because at this point there are so many that they can't play anymore.

Jenga is out because Clint figured out how to use a bow and arrow to take out the most difficult pieces with irritating precision and then the whole thing spirals from there.

Monopoly is a disaster even when you don't play with a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist (who refuses to let anyone except Pepper be the banker because he doesn't trust any of you to count that high).

Twister works, but only for so long because inevitably someone - ahem, Nat - would decide to get cute with the call outs and then snap pics of various Avengers in compromising positions to post on various tumblrs.

Secret Hitler went down like a bag of bricks - Steve and Bucky hated the concept, and unsurprisingly, the lying.

Cards Against Humanity was a crowd favorite, but really, you could only play it so much. Even with the expansion packs.

Poker was right out - Thor was just too much of a pouter.

But, after a quick visit to a board game shop last week, you were loaded for bear. Of course, you'd given the poor clerk an aneurysm trying to describe the various personalities involved and the dynamics.

"How does this work?" Steve asked, watching you prep the board and decks. "This looks...complicated."

"Oh," You grinned. "It is. It's strategy-based."

"What's it called?" Wilson asked, looking at his character card. 

"Pandemic."

"Not Kolkata, not Kolkata..." Clint chanted under his breath as Barnes reached for the next card.

A chorus of groans went up as the card was flipped over.

"Motherfucker." Steve swore and Wilson patted his shoulder sympathetically. "It's like the deck knows..."

Tony's eyes narrowed on the board. "Are we sure this thing isn't, in fact, sentient?"

"That's like," Banner groaned and covered his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "Eight? Nine?"

"Eleven." Nat's brow was furrowed as she stared at the collection of cubes and cards, as if she could divine the boards' next move by glare alone. "Eleven games."


	19. The Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You overhear Nat welcoming the interns...

"Most of the intelligence community didn't think he existed. The ones that did," You hear Nat say in conspiratorial tones as you enter the training gym for agents. "called him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years."

"Is that a lot?" You hear one intern ask another.

Nat continues on, but you know she heard it. "He's a ghost story."

You sigh and shake your head. Every year it's a new batch of interns and every year, Nat does this.

To be fair, you don't stop her. And you don't do anything to lessen the fear and terror she instills in them of Barnes' alter ego. You know that from here, she'll take them up to see the Avengers training room, time it just so they can catch the end of the no-holds-barred training session Barnes and Rogers have.

Usually there's at least one breakdown.

"My money's on the tall one in the back," Clint says, dropping onto the bench next to you with no warning. "You didn't even flinch."

"I'm used to you all trying to sneak up on me." You point out, tying up the last of your laces. "And you're on - it's definitely going to be the Queen Bee on the left."

Clint snorts, but shakes on it. "So, does Barnes know about this yet? Or does he just think Nat has terrible tour timing?"

"Six of one, half dozen of another." You ping his shoulder with a light punch as the interns and Nat head out. "C'mon, you promised to show me that cool arm-bar old man."

Two very sweaty and satisfying hours later, you've perfected that nifty little arm-bar and Clint is grouching about how you take training too seriously for someone who's never in the field as you both head to the kitchen for some post-workout fuel. You don't even have to step in the room before you hear Barnes bitching Nat out.

"Stop making people afraid of me," He says. "I'm getting tired of the fainting. It's annoying."

You can hear Nat's grin. "I'm just making sure they understand who they're dealing with, Barnes."

He snorts. "I'm not a fucking ghost story, Natalia."

It's not that Bucky Barnes isn't terrifying. He absolutely is, especially in the grip of the murder mindset that is the Winter Soldier persona. That arm, combined with top of the line training and field preparation...he's absolutely a formidable opponent, and ruthless as fuck. It's one of his better personality traits, though you've never told him so.

But a ghost? You snort as you reach for the fixings of a smoothie and find both assassins watching you with narrowed eyes.

"He's right." You say, and wonder just how ex- these two assassins are as those eyes narrow a little bit more. "I mean, even before the whole 'who's Bucky?' - classic, btw - it's not like he was, uh, subtle." You rolled your eyes as both of them moved to confusion. "Barnes, you strolled down Main Street Washington in broad daylight with a grenade launcher, wrecked an overpass, trashed a bus, half a dozen cars, and got caught on camera by three dozen witnesses and a news chopper."

"I was a fucking shadow for the better part of seventy years."

"O-kay." You held up your hands. "Touchy subject. I'm just saying, for a guy who's supposed to be more myth than reality, you sure left a lot of evidence lying around. I mean, I'm like, ninety percent sure you had a whole Hydra team there just to go in and collect all the guns, knives, face masks, video evidence..." You dodged as a bowl of fruit came flying at you. "Woah, woah! Violence against produce! Not cool!"

You know Barnes doesn't like to think about Hydra. Know it's a big fucking deal for him.

You also know full well that he wasn't responsible for anything Hydra made him do, no matter what guilt trip he's been carrying around with him since he joined the team.

Clint shoots you a 'what are you doing?' look as you snag a rolling apple off the counter and bite into it, leaning against the counter with a careless grin. 

"And the Stark job?" You whistle. "I mean...you take out a world famous inventor in front of the only camera for miles, and stare directly into the fucking thing before you blow it to pieces? If I didn't know better," You mused, watching that metal hand clench and unclench as Nat shook her head. "I'd say it's almost like part of you wanted to get caught. Wanted to be seen. Almost..." You let your eyes wander as if deep in thought and had to hide the smile as Clint mimed slamming his head against the cupboard. "Almost like Bucky Barnes didn't want to make it easy for them."

Nat and Clint both stopped, poleaxed.

Barnes looked like you'd slammed him with a cement truck, eyes wide.

You leveled a 'what, guys?' look at all three of them. "What? No one thought of that?" You crunched down on another bite of apple noisily. "I mean, sure, Steve got you going on memory lane with that whole 'til the end of the line thing, but why do you think they had to keep wiping you before you even met him?" A careless shrug, another bite of apple. "Makes a lot more sense than a ghost who, you know, kills people in the middle of the fucking street."

Barnes is looking at you, through you, and those cold blue eyes are a little brighter than usual as he clears his throat. "I uh, I have to go. Got a thing."

And then the Winter Soldier, ghost of the international intelligence community's last century is booking it for his room.

"And they say I'm diabolical." Nat whistled. "Well done, y/n."

You pointed a finger at Nat. "Seriously though, stop scaring the interns. You're making more paperwork for me."


	20. One Nice Thing

"Come on, y/n." Tony waggled his fingers because, naturally, that's what a five year old would do. "Pay up."

You scowled at the room but knew you weren't getting out of this Tower until you paid your end of the bargain.

How badly did you really want another night off for a date with Tom, the cute doctor who somehow was still interested in seeing you after that disaster of a first date?

You thought about your most recent date - two weeks ago - and the box of chocolate he'd had delivered to your fake-work-address-that-forwarded-to-the-Tower along with a cheesy, punny note that had left you grinning for two days straight.

"It's a fair trade," Nat reasoned, looking unsuitably pleased with the whole situation.

"And no one calls, texts, stalks, or interrupts." You added.

You watched seven heads bob in unison and let out a big breath.

Yup, you really liked Tom.

You started with Banner. "You are always so polite and chill. It's why you're my favorite to babysit, even with the big guy."

Stark next. "You're irritating as ever-loving-fuck, but you build seriously cool shit."

Rogers frowned a little as you paused at him. 

"You are by far the prettiest Avenger."

The others laughed and snorted while God's Righteous Man sent you a righteous scowl as you moved on to Wilson.

"You're the second prettiest Avenger, and your taste in clothes isn't anywhere as atrocious as Rogers'."

Wilson clutched at his chest in mock shock as you moved to the trio of master assassins.

"You might be the only partial grown up here," You told Clint. "Also, you have a decent sense of humor."

"What?" Clint mimed turning his hearing aids up. "I didn't hear you."

You laughed, couldn't help it, and then swung your gaze to Nat. Considered. "You are by far the scariest person in this room after me."

That was met with groans and boos in equal measure, but Nat smiled. 

"And you, Barnes..." Ah...you tried to think of something, came up a little blank, stalled. "Well, you aren't exactly the care-bear of the bunch, and god knows you're a pain in the ass to clean up after. But you're a helluva sniper, and I appreciate your ruthlessness in all things except laser tag and prank wars. And Chopped marathons."

There. Done.

Once nice thing for each Avenger in exchange for one night free and clear of wrangling.


	21. Santa, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret Santa goes wrong...or is it right?  
> Special guest star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes on this chapter:  
> 1) I'm over summer, hence this holiday ficlet - GIVE ME SWEATER WEATHER DAMN YOU, NATURE  
> 2) Sexy Secret Santa is in fact a real thing that's been several years running in our family. We live in fear, never knowing when they'll strike, or with what or to what end other than general tomfoolery. Some of the events represented here were inspired by this dastardly villain's exploits. One day, SS Santa, one day, we will discover your identity...

At first it's funny, if weird.

Vis comes back from training to find an especially explicit magazine wrapped in a bright red bow with a little note that says 'You've been nice all year, time to be naughty'.

Wanda thinks it's hilarious, which lets Vis shrug it off - humor is still something that's a little tricky for him sometimes - and a few days pass before Sexy Santa strikes again.

This time they leave a small box in the freezer for Wilson, gold and glittering and labeled with that same distinct red bow. Wilson pulls it out of the freezer at the end of the day, slides the little card out of the envelope as most of the team waits to see what's next.

"A miniature chocolate thunder for chocolate thunder?" Sam's confusion morphs to amusement as he lifts the lid of the box.

"Why'd someone leave you a chocolate frog?" Barnes asks.

"It's...Steve, help me." Wilson begs.

"That's not a frog, Buck." Steve turns the box and Barnes' eyes widen in comprehension.

"Do you think it's to scale with Wilson?" He smirks, and then dodges as Sam throws the chocolate penis at him.

"Very funny, assholes." Clint grumbles the next day.

"What?" Nat asks, barely looking up from her Lucky Charms.

"Someone left this," He slams the small box down on the counter and there are a few double takes all around because that is clearly recognizable as a box from a high end *ahem* toy store. "In my room. With a note. That 'Hawkeye should take the Initiative'."

"What's in the box?" Wilson asks, reaching for it.

Clint snatches for it, but Nat intercepts and Wilson opens the box to stare down at a small set of dice, engraved with various sexual suggestions.

Wilson ends up falling out of his chair he's laughing so hard.

"I don't..." Steve shakes his head. "I mean, I know what it is, but I don't get it."

"Whoever this Sexy Secret Santa is," Nat muses as they all look over the full body catsuit Cap had found on his bed with a telltale ribbon wrapped around the waist. "I think they want you to get your kink on, Cap."

Steve turns three shades of red and a couple shades of fuschia while Barnes snickers in the background.

The table talk the next few days is all about this Sexy Secret Santa - after all, the gifts are hilarious, but secret-sent, so what else are a group of heroes supposed to do in the days leading up to the holidays?

Nat is the obvious choice for anything sneaky, but it's so obvious that she's ruled out in the first few rounds and one day later when she gets a set of scented body oils that are obviously for intimate use.

Bruce gets a guide to Tantric sex.

Barnes gets a vibrating bullet - and yes, the card makes a vibranium joke.

Stark gets an inflatable doll, which he hurriedly deflates before Pepper sees.

And no one knows who the Sexy Secret Santa is or when they'll strike next...

Wade Wilson leans back on the couch in the common room with a satisfied sound, surrounded by several hundred dildos in fluorescent shades. "Ah, gotta keep the holiday spirit alive..."

"Wade!" You snap, "What the fuck, man?"


	22. Wade Wilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I watched Deadpool last night and Wade wouldn't leave me alone this morning...

You’re running QB from the Quinjet on an apprehension mission when Wilson radios in that there’s an unfriendly running around in the building who also appears to have a hard on for the same Yakuza thugs you’re here to bring in.

“There’s some asshole up here in a red suit.” Sam’s voice is irritated, which isn’t new on a mission. “He literally just skipped down the fucking hall.”

“Well,” You try to picture it, came up blank. “As long as he doesn’t get in the way…”

But of course, he does, because he’s there for the same guy you guys are and a few minutes later, all you can hear from Barnes is swearing and quippy one liners as he and the interloper come to blows outside the boss’ door.

“Will you just,” Barnes pants in between blows. “Fucking shut up?”

His op cam gets knocked loose and you have one tiny shot to see who’s fucking up your op before you’re running off the jet, heading for the penthouse suite from the landing pad.

“Disengage, Barnes! Disengage!”

“Why?” Barnes huffs a minute later. “I snapped his neck. He’s out.”

You swear under your breath with a word that rhymes with ‘other trucker’ as you round the corner in time to see the lifeless red suited body on the floor behind Barnes.

Barnes is already scowling at you as you draw your gun. “You’re not supposed to leave the jet.”

You ignore him with an eye roll as you draw even with him. “Wade, why do you always have to ruin my day?”

Barnes clearly thinks you’ve lost it - talking to a corpse in the middle of a mission. “Wilson,” He calls. “I think something’s wrong with y/n.”

“Wade Wilson, I know you’re not dead. It would simplify my life entirely too much.” You scowled at the body. “Don’t make me call ‘Nessa, you jackass.”

“Aww man,” Barnes jumps like he’s been goosed as the red suited body sits up with a pout in his voice. “I was only gonna shoot him a little when his back was turned, y/n.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Wade?” You ask as you watch him shake his head, crack his neck and stand back up.

“The author thought it was time I met the team.” 

You rolled your eyes, well versed in Wade’s peculiarities. “Sure, Wade.”

“And that’s why they call me the Merc with the Mouth,” Wade is explaining to Barnes.

“No one except you calls you that, Wade.”

"Let me have my fun, y/n!"

“How’d you guys meet?” Wilson asks, looking back and forth between the two of you warily as you prep the jet for takeoff.

“Jacksonville,” You and Wade saw simultaneously.

“Woooonderful TGIFridays,” You add. “Sooo good.”

“Right?” Wade slides into the copilot seat. “Ooh, so many buttons…”

You slap his hands away from the instrument panel.

“What were you doing in Jacksonville?” Wilson asks.

“It’s classified.”


	23. September the 1st

“I mean, I think we all know which house Cap belongs to,” Tony sneers amicably. “What with all that surging righteousness. It’s gotta be Gryffindor all the way, right?”

You roll your eyes.

It’s September 1st and that means the annual Harry Potter marathon has commenced at the Avengers tower. Munchies are piled high around the living room, the Avengers are assembled in their loungewear, and inevitably, as you wait for the pizza to arrive, the conversation turns to Sorting.

At least it’s not Patronuses this year...

“He does run head-first into danger…” Clint muses. “I’d put Nat in Slytherin for sure though.”

Nat smirks and passes him the bowl of M&M’s.

“That’s bribery, Romanoff. I’m obviously Ravenclaw, as the brains behind this whole operation.” Tony decides. “Banner too, obviously. And Parker.”

“You’re just saying that because you want all your favorite people in the same house as you.” Nat points out.

Tony’s eyes roll. “Obviously.”

Wilson shoots you a speculative look. “What do you think, y/n?”

“I think this pizza is taking forever.” When you look up from the tracking app, you realize you have the entire team’s undivided attention. “What?”

“She does know us better than almost anyone.” Nat says, and you recognize the ‘bout-to-start-shit look in her eyes. “She basically is the sorting hat.”

“You don’t wanna do this,” You say but it’s too late by the maniacal gleam in Tony’s eyes as he claps his hands together.

“Yes! Let’s do this! J.A.R.V.I.S., more butterbeers!”

They’re all looking at you expectantly and you realize they’re serious . Serious as a heart attack.

And you know what, a part of you is kinda pumped. 

“Okay,” You say, pointing at Steve. “First off, that motherfucker is absolutely in Slytherin.” Everyone except Barnes opens their mouth and you just steamroll right over them. “Look, whatever it takes to accomplish the objective, Rogers will do. Lie, plan, plot. Strategy. Ruthlessness. Disrespect for authority of any kind. Absolutely Slytherin.”

Clint beams at you when you turn to him. “Gryffindor. Or Hufflepuff. You choose - could go either way. Coming out of cozy retirement to help your friends? Gotta be one of the two.”

“Ravenclaw.” Tony whoops at the declaration. “Smug, smart, no ability to apply it to the real world until it’s already been applied - thanks again for Ultron, Tony - and an inability to not obsess over better, faster, stronger versions of things.”

“Me next!” Wilson says. 

“You do what Rogers does, just slower. Slytherin.”

Wilson laughs, pleased, as you turn to Banner.

“You could go into any of them. All your choice. You’ve got the smarts for Ravenclaw, the heart for Gryffindor, the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, and yeah, the ambition for Slytherin, even though you sometimes don’t like thinking about it.” You give a soft smile in response to the one Banner sends you. “The Big Guy’s definitely Gryffindor though.”

Next up are the two former Russian assassins. 

“Hufflepuff. Both of ya.”

Clint snorts butterbeer up his nose as both Nat and Barnes give you absolutely murderous looks and the room bursts into laughter.

“You,” You fix Barnes first, giving him your best steel-eyed glare right back. “You followed Rogers down every damn alleyway in Brooklyn, across half - or more - of the eastern front in the war, and literally disregarded a lifetime’s worth of conditioning and amnesia to save his life. If that ain’t a Hufflepuff…And you,” You turn to Nat now. “You are the biggest mother hen of them all, always making sure everyone’s okay and has what they need. You plot like a Slytherin, but it’s because even under everything you’ve done, you just care too damn much.”

“Oh, oh, do Fury next!” Clint shouts as the app dings and you stalk towards the elevator. “Y/n, do Fury!”


	24. First Impressions - Sam Wilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wilson meets the AW for the first time

"So, ah," Tony Stark is nervous and Sam Wilson is amused because this is a side of Stark he's never seen before. "Just don't piss her off, okay? We like you - mostly - and it's too much paperwork when people quit. And the trauma bills are getting a little ridiculous."

"R-ight. Cause you do the paperwork around here."

Tony winces as he opens the door to the conference room where the team is partially assembled. "No, she does. And when she gets cranky...Let's just say even the Big Guy minds his p's and q's, okay?" Tony shudders and scoots off to get coffee from the side table.

Sam already knows everyone here - Steve sends him a welcoming smile but doesn't move away from Barnes, who's watching everyone else with a tensely studied kind of disinterest. Nat and Clint are tossing M&M's at each other from across the table in increasingly complicated maneuvers. There seems to be some kind of point keeping system, but Sam knows now it's better not to ask 1) what it is and 2) who’s winning.

Banner is studying some kind of lab report - classic science bro - and Wanda and Vis are being their adorable lovebird selves.

But you? The (unofficial) Avengers Wrangler? The person whose name inspires more than a little fear in Earth’s Mightiest Heroes? Nowhere to be seen.

So Sam gets himself a coffee and proceeds to take a seat on the other side of Barnes, mostly so he can indulge in his favorite hobby of Giving Bucky Barnes Shit.

He’s just gotten his first good glare from Barnes when you walk in, and wow, not what he was expecting. Not that he really knew what to expect, but this….this is not it.

Natasha Romanoff behaves around you.

Tony Stark is clearly terrified of getting on your bad side.

Clint, Steve, and Barnes have already told him to, in no uncertain terms, 'not fuck this up'.

He was expecting an actual Amazon - a Maria Hill, a Peggy Carter.

He was not expecting a hungover-looking grunge baby who's dwarfed by almost everyone in the room.

The hoody you’re wearing is gigantically oversized, incredibly worn in, and gives the impression that you're drowning under all that fabric. You have bug-eyed sun glasses on your face, and a Detroit Tigers - ewww - hat over your exceptionally greasy looking hair. Like, really, really greasy hair.

By the smell of you, you might actually be hungover - even from the far end of the table, he can smell how ripe you are.

Overall, Sam Wilson’s first impression is a homeless hobo who has wandered into Avengers Tower and is now pouring coffee into a gigantic mug that says ‘Fuck Off’ on the side of it in flowery, hipster lettering.

He actually digs the mug.

You slide into the only open seat - next to him, naturally, with a little groan that goes mostly unnoticed in the chaos of the room.

“Rough night?” He asks, smile friendly, despite the picture you paint as you rummage through your hobo hoody pockets for something.

You slide the sunglasses off as you pull a red bull canister out of the pouch of the hoody and hold up a ‘one moment please’ finger with all the poise and charm of a hungover moose.

He watches you pop the top on the red bull.

And dump it directly into the coffee mug.

No one else is staring and Sam Wilson feels like he’s stepped into an alternate dimension as he watches you stick one grubby finger into the mug and swirl it before you raise it to your lips and chug at least half the mixture in one go.

He’s man enough to admit he’s intimidated, and that’s before Tony clears his throat, gently.

“Y/n? We good to go?”

You nod, and Tony starts the pre-mission spiel. Something about a mad scientist ripping dimensional gateways in Vermont. Sam honestly doesn’t hear anything beyond that as you turn to face him, hold eye contact, and without blinking, down the rest of the mug.

"But why?" He asks Barnes on the quinjet an hour later, still seeing the absolute unflinching look in your eyes.

Barnes shrugs as he checks over his -many- weapons again. "It's how she establishes dominance."

Yeah, well, Sam thinks to himself, it works.


	25. First Impressions - Steve Rogers

Steve met you at the official meet-n-greet with Hill - but really, there wasn’t much to take away from that. The PTB (powers that be) had decided the Avengers needed a babysitter, someone had gotten on Nick Fury’s shit list, and here you were. You’d made small polite noises while watching all of the Avengers with steely glances and measuring - okay, judging - looks, and then you and Hill had retreated to wherever you’d come from while Tony and Clint made noises about how they didn’t need a babysitter.

You’d seemed a little quiet, by-the-bookish, and if you were stamped with Hill’s approval -which you were, because Steve had actually taken the time to read over your file, at least, the parts that weren’t redacted- you had to be at least competent.

But the first time Steve really meets you - the real you - it’s too damn early in the morning nearly a month into your stint and he’s stepping off the elevator into the gym because F.R.I.D.A.Y. knows to ping him when Bucky has a bad night and this is where his best friend blows off steam when he finally untangles himself from the nightmares after a mission gone sideways at an old Hydra base.

Bucky doesn’t scream when he dreams. He whimpers, he tries to escape, and then when he wakes up drenched in sweat and shame, he comes down here and beats the shit out of punching bags. Or Steve. Though honestly, there’re not so unevenly matched now that Steve’s been taking lessons from Natasha in fighting assassin-style.

Which is why he’s down here.

And it’s why he stops at the door when he sees that Bucky isn’t alone.

Steve Rogers’ first real impression of you is a well executed takedown that throws his best friend down on the floor as you taunt him. “Is that all you got, Barnes?”

The sneer in your voice has the hackles on the back of his neck standing end over end and he’s halfway across the room before he sees the snarl on Bucky’s face.

It’s the first time he’s seen anything other than Bucky’s neutral face (or as Clint refers to it ‘conceal, don’t feel’ face) when it’s not just the two of them in their own private space, and it stops Steve cold as he notes that your body language is calm, confident, even in the face of that teeth-baring snarl that looks more animal than man.

So Steve stays where he is, and he watches you throw a super soldier ex-assassin at least twice your age. Again.

And again.

And again.

You never use the same trick twice, and he has to admit that he’s impressed. Nat’s the only person he’s ever seen move with that much fluid grace. The taunts you throw like a red flag in front of Bucky would make Clint blush, and the calm he reads across your face despite the foul language and low blows is almost zen-like.

It takes him a bit, but he realizes what you’re doing as you and Bucky square off again.

You’re exhausting Bucky. Letting him punish himself for whatever horror-show played across his brain overnight. And you aren’t letting him hurt you - like Steve often does - to do it.

You can’t match a super soldier for stamina though.

Turns out you don’t have to.

Your final takedown is an impressively tight chokehold using your legs and your hips and Steve blinks rapidly because how did you move that fast ? He read your file - you’re not inhuman or gifted. You’re just a well-trained weapon. But Bucky is wheezing, airway constricted even as he slams you into the mat and oh, god, Bucky’s going to break the babysitter and won’t that be fun to explain to Ross? Steve thinks with a wince because Bucky doesn't do 'gentle' bodyslams.

You clench your leg muscles even tighter and Bucky goes a shade of pre-pass-out Steve hasn’t seen before before finally going limp.

You hold it for a count of ten before letting go and even as Steve crosses the last few steps towards the ring, he can see Bucky stirring back to consciousness as you rock up onto the balls of your feet, rolling your shoulders as you stand over him.

“How ya feeling, sleeping beauty?” You ask and Bucky stares up at you mutinously, a purely Bucky Barnes expression that makes Steve suck in a lungful of air like the asthmatic he used to be. “Do I need to slam you around some more, or are you going to be a big boy and go see a fucking shrink already?”

There is nothing supportive in your tone. It’s caustic and belittling. Maybe that’s what lets it work, because God knows nothing Steve has said has gotten through to his best friend on that topic.

“Fuck off.” Bucky growls as you extend a hand to help him up. “And mind your own fucking business.”

The saccharine sweetness in your smile should kill a man, Steve thinks. “Barnes, your business is my literal job. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Agent y/l/n?”

Your grin is fucking savage as Bucky stands to his full height and tries to stare you down. “You got all that, right? On video? Old man winter getting his ass kicked?”

“Yes.”

Victory writes itself across your face as Bucky’s eyes narrow like laser beams. You should be a smoking crater on the mat right now but you just stand there, looking pleased with yourself. “So, Barnes, what’s it gonna be? Therapy, or do I make you Youtube famous?”

Steve Rogers will never tell anyone, but he’s a little in love with you as Bucky grumbles, “Therapy. You’re the literal worst.”

“And don’t you forget it.” You toss the words over your shoulders with a cheeky swerve of your hips, clearly done with Bucky. Your eyes only widen a fraction when you see Steve standing there, gaping like a fish he realizes. “Jesus, did I miss the memo for the early bird session? Do seniors train for free before five?”

Bucky glares after you as you make a beeline for the locker rooms while Steve just...watches.

“She’s going to be a pain in the ass.” Bucky’s voice is still a growl as Steve joins him on the mat.

“I thought that was my job,” Steve jokes.

Bucky groans. "Two of them. Now I have two of them."


	26. First Impressions - Tony Stark

Tony doesn’t really remember the first time he met you, and that’s not really his fault or yours. He was on day three of no sleep, hip deep in design details for improving a new baseline tac suit and there was just something...glitchy...about the way the materials were responding to temperature fluctuations.

He’d stumbled out of the lab long enough to make more coffee, and to see if he could coax Pep into giving him some sugar to go with it, and that was when he heard the laughter from Pepper’s office.

It stopped him because he’d never heard anyone other than Parker or May make Pepper laugh like that and if the Parkers thought they could drop by without saying ‘hi’ to him first, well, he was going to be miffed.

“Oh, that’s the most accurate description I’ve ever heard,” Pepper giggled as he made his way to the door, wiping at her eyes. “‘Aggressive instincts of a rabid chihuahua…’ oh that’s just...perfect.”

“Talking about me?” Tony asked, pulling out the charming playboy smile because wait-a-minute, he didn’t recognize you…

“Oh, Tony. I was just talking with y/n about how she’s settling in after her first full week.” Pepper’s eyes moved over his face and he saw the concern in them. “When was the last time you slept, Tony?”

He shrugged, unwilling to show weakness in front of this stranger, who was watching him just a little too carefully. “I dunno. Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Sit down before you fall down,” Pepper’s hands are soft on his arm as she leads him over to the couch and he sits before he’s realized it because it’s Pepper and okay, yeah, soft couches are nice…He leans back and shuts his eyes just for a minute...

He’s half-asleep before he has time to process your hands taking the coffee mug away from him.

“He does this a lot?” He hears you ask from somewhere far, far away.

“More than he should,” Pepper throws him under the bus without hesitation, and if he were more awake, he’d object to that - even if it’s true - because who’s side is she on? “Him and Banner both can get...I think ‘obsessive’ might be an understatement.”

“Huh.” Your voice is closer now and there’s...there’s something warm being laid over him. A blanket?

Tony’s fingers curl around it. 

Yes. Blanket.

Tony doesn’t remember meeting you, but even when you’re snarking right back at him or locking him out of his lab, he can’t help but feel a little bit like everything’s going to be okay...


	27. First Impressions - Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes is, honestly, a little relieved to find out the team is getting a babysitter.

That’s not the word Hill uses when she breaks the news, but it’s the one the Avengers toss around after the debrief, and it’s probably more accurate than the official title they’re slapping on the role.

Finally , is the first thought he has, finally someone else can help keep an eye on Steve and his lack of impulse control, because if he’s being honest? Bucky Barnes needs a goddamn break.


	28. First Impressions -Clint Barton

“Waitaminute,” Stark sputters as Clint shrugs and then removes another Jenga block. “What do you mean by that?” 

The other Avengers are equally unhappy, with the exception of Nat, who exists in a perpetual state of ‘never let ‘em know what you know’ as Game Night continues.

“I recruited her to S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony - what about that sentence isn’t making it through there?”

“Well here we all are,” Tony’s face is a mixture of outrage and mock-hurt as he gestures to include everyone. “Sharing our first impression stories of y/n, and you’ve been sitting on a potential goldmine of history? I’m hurt, Barton. Hurt.”

“He does have a point.” Steve says, then holds his breath as the tower wobbles...and settles. “It’s kinda unfair.”

“Is there blackmail material? Please let there be blackmail material.” Wilson tosses his two cents in with Barnes nodding his agreement.

“Guys,” Clint knows Nat’s laughing behind that facade of detached calm as he answers. “I met her when she was like, twelve. My takeaways were, in order,” He holds up a finger for each as he ticks them off. “Small, smart, spunky, small, and dangerous.”

The room explodes into questions and chaos until Clint holds up his hand.

“How does a twelve year old end up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar?” Banner asked. “She’s not inhuman or indexed or anything like that…”

“That’s classified. And sealed with a court order.” Clint can feel his face relaxing into a smile that Nat has dubbed ‘proud papa’ but he doesn’t care - the way you’d blown that place up on next to nothing and left no evidence does make him proud. “So Fury sent me in to talk to her once the local police had everyone in custody. See if she could be...refocused. Never seen someone with such strong protective instincts and…”

“Pizzazz?” Nat offers helpfully.

“Not the word I would use.” Tony huffs.

“No, no,” Clint agrees. “It’s close enough. So, I recruited her to S.H.I.E.L.D. academy and now here we all are.”

“I’m surprised the academy is still standing,” Another grumble from Tony but it’s mostly for show as he reaches for the next Jenga block.

The tower tips over and he groans in defeat.

“Actually, it was the safest stretch of time the academy’s ever had since...Well, the accidents were definitely less ‘oh god everyone’s dead’ and more ‘pranks gone too far’, and that’s a big thing in a school made up of future mad scientists and operatives in training.” 

“She mother-henned everyone into safety compliance?” Banner looks incredulous. “Of course she did - why am I asking?”

Clint grins as the bitching continues, letting it flow in one ear and out the other.

You really had been a cute kid, he thinks.

Even if you had singed your eyebrows off.


	29. Sweet Summer Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes overhears something he wishes he hadn't

"How's the sex?"

Bucky Barnes stops cold two steps from the gym door with a record screeching in his mind as Nat's voice drifts into the hallway. Oh no, oh no, he does not want to walk into another conversation about Barton's sex life. Nopesie Daisies.

He's halfway pivoting when your voice drifts through - laughter, relaxed and real.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well, yeah," Nat's 'duh' goes unsaid amid the squeak of sneakers on treadmills. "Who else can I talk to about this kind of stuff?"

"Barton stopped coming to you with questions about kink, didn't he?"

"Not my fault he and Lara are super vanilla. It's weird though, they have three kids and have been together for yeaaaaars and they never got into any of this stuff before." 

You laugh again and despite himself, Bucky Barnes is now listening very carefully.

Blackmail material. 

"So...how's the sex?"

You sigh. "It...isn't."

"What do you mean?"

He can hear you shrug. "I mean that between my shifts and his on-calls, we still haven't gotten to do more than dirty texts and heavy petting." The disappointment in your voice carries loud and clear. "Honestly, not sure we're going to keep seeing each other at this rate."

"But he's into you. And you're into him. And he's cute - I've seen the surveillance photos." Nat's confusion is evident. "And you know you can take a night off if that's the issue. What's really going on?"

"He's...oh, god, Nat, he's so boring." Your voice sounds muffled as you confess and Bucky can picture your head dropped into your hands. You sound miserable. "I mean, like, I know we joke about Rogers being Vanilla Cupcake Mix, but I think Tom might have him beat. There's just no...heat. Which was fine at first," A slight edge of frustration enters your voice now "but my god, I do not have it in me to teach another grown human being how to have great sex on the regular."

"Go on."

You laugh again. "Come on, Nat. You know what I mean. He's nice, but do I really need to invest so much time and energy into teaching him all the..."

"Ins and outs?" Nat suggests, double entendre clear.

"Sure. I just...you know, I spend so much of my time giving energy to other people, I don't want to do that when I go home at night." A sigh. "I dunno. I'm thinking I need to just...take a break from dating for a while. I'm not in the right headspace if even the idea of opening the kink closet just makes me exhausted."

A sympathetic silence follows and Bucky Barnes *almost* feels bad for eavesdropping.

Then he remembers the last time you sicced Steve on him, and nope, he doesn't feel so bad now.

Plus, if he walks away now without actionable blackmail material, Wilson might kill him.

"I had no idea you had kinks," Nat admits. "But I get it."

Bucky blinks.

"I mean, honestly? Vanilla is much more my speed." Natasha confesses. "It's...exhausting...always pushing the edges at work. I want the opposite when I can let my hair down. I want to be...cherished."

"Well I know this really cute doctor..." You joke as the treadmills slow down.

"But seriously, y/n. What's the filthiest kink in your closet?" Nat starts listing things and Bucky is now deeply uncomfortable - he doesn't even know what some of these are, and he's sure he'd regret looking them up. "Bondage? Size? Oh, oh, oh, Daddy? No, wait. Furry. It's furries, isn't it?"

"Oh my sweet summer child," You say and oh shit - you're definitely going to walk through that door any second, but now his feet are stuck because he did not just hear you call The Black Widow 'sweet summer child' in that bordering-on-pitying voice. "How little you know."

Your hand hits the door and Bucky Barnes puts every ounce of his super serum speed to work.

You walk into the now empty hall, grinning over your shoulder at Nat.

"Is he gone?" Nat asks, devilish amusement in her eyes.

You nod. "Coast clear."


	30. What Women Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is going on a date...revenge is sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: As always, apologies for the utter trash my brain cobbles together between the time I make the coffee, drink the coffee, and the coffee kicks in

You're just stopping by the Avengers main floor to drop off some paperwork for Steve to finish. For someone who spent years in the army, he's truly terrible at following regulations, and after the last week, you've had it with him dodging his reports.

You don't mind filling things in from time to time or making quick fixes, but 'bad guys went pew pew' is not gonna fly this time.

Steve's not in his room so you backtrack to Bucky's.

"Come in." Steve calls when you knock. "Seriously, Bucky, it'll be fine."

Steve is sitting on the bed, mile long legs folded up impossibly small beneath him while Barnes scowls from the door to his closet. Wilson is lounging across the arms of the chair, scrolling on his phone, and the shit eating grin threatening to break over his face is your first clue that something is up.

"Rogers, fix your report." You toss him the file and head for the door. There's no way you're sticking around for whatever shit show is about to blow up your Thursday night - not when you have plans to meet up with some non-Avengers friends for a late bite.

"Ask y/n." Wilson says. "She's a woman."

Internally, you groan. Externally, you shoot Wilson the bird but it's too late because Steve Rogers has turned his puppy like eyes on you and Barnes has too, though he looks more like a slightly-anxious, grumpy cat, standing there in civvies, practically fidgeting.

"What's the question?"

Bucky Barnes looks like he would rather chew glass than ask whatever the question is, so Rogers jumps in.

"Well, it's like this...Bucky has a date."

You raise an eyebrow at Barnes. "Ooh really? Anyone we know?"

"Lillian," Wilson's glee is almost tangible. "From Accounting."

"The one with the...the tongue piercing?" You try to recall her face. "Pretty. Great ass."

"That's the one." Wilson confirms.

"Bold choice for your first foray back into the world of...whatever it is you're about to jump into." You say and you can't lie, you're a little pleased with how Barnes shifts his weight from foot to foot. "What's the question?"

Barnes says nothing.

Steve sighs. "Buck's just...a little nervous. And...well..."

"What do women want? On dates? These days?" The words pour forth like vomit from Barnes' mouth, and oh look - he's almost green to match. "Like...the expectations."

"Uh...." Now you understand Wilson's glee and Steve's earnestness. "Generally, or like, Lillian specifically? Cause, uh, if you haven't figured out one of those..."

Barnes groans, runs his hand over his face and mutters something like 'this was a mistake'.

It's pathetic.

It's also about the only thing that would make you stay in the room. Because God help you, you do actually care about the wellbeing of Earth's Mightiest Assholes.

Acknowledging that you will at least be late for the night bites with buddies, you sigh and sit on the bed next to Rogers who thoughtfully offers you the bag of twizzlers he's been working his way through. He has to be part dentist because Rogers is a mother-freaking sugar fiend but those pearly whites don't ever get so much as a cavity...

"Alright. What's the date?"

"Dinner. Drinks. In the Tower."

It's like pulling teeth. 

"What's the spark-o-meter?" You decide to cut to the chase for the sake of all parties involved.

Wilson chokes on air, Steve blushes, and Barnes just glares.

"Yeah, that really doesn't work the way you think it does in that outfit." You tell him, and then wait patiently.

"What's a spark-o-meter?"

It's Steve who asks, and you share a long-suffering eye roll with Wilson.

"How...attracted...are you two to each other? What's the chemistry like?" You keep going as Barnes continues to look at you with a blank face. "Are there sparks when you're in the room together? Flirting? Bangability index score?"

Wilson snorts. "Bangability index. I like that one."

"Nope." Barnes shakes his head and strides back into the closet. "Nope. I am not having this conversation with y/n. Bad enough Steve dragged Wilson in here..."

"I resent that," Wilson chirps. "Especially since you dragged Steve in here and I just happened to be an innocent bystander."

All three of you snort at that and Wilson shoots all of you a narrow eyed glare before going back to his phone.

"Didn't you get a rep as a ladies man back in the day, Barnes?" You accept another twizzler from Steve's stash with a smile and an eyebrow wiggle. "It's like riding a bicycle."

Steve chokes on his twizzler.

"That was...that was eighty odd years ago, y/n. Women are different now." Barnes' tone is defensive as he remerges and you know the night isn't totally sunk because he hasn't changed yet.

"Pal," You say. "They really haven't."


	31. The One With Your Ex-Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, I have no excuses 🤪
> 
> I also want to do a follow up to this but I get to go to work now...wah wah wah...

You’re wrangling Earth’s Mightiest Heroes at a charity event in D.C. when it happens. Nothing too crazy - just a team guest appearance to encourage the wealthy to open their wallets to help support those in need and on the whole, it’s been going well.

So really, you should have been expecting it - these  _ were _ Mark’s kind of thing, and the Gods of Chaos that had gifted you with the Avengers clearly felt that a night off wasn’t warranted.

But you’d been standing there, eagle-eyeing Wilson and Barnes while chatting with Maria to make sure they remembered not to offend the senator currently yammering away about VA funding, wishing like hell you hadn’t let Nat and Maria talk you into wearing heels and an honest-to-god evening gown. Granted, you were still wearing your usual amount of weaponry thanks to the same women and one of Stark’s more ingenious weapons designers.

Didn’t mean you weren’t wishing for your normal evening suit and fantasizing about kicking off your heels before falling into your bed while Maria handed you a flute of overpriced pinot.

"Honestly, I'm surprised Rogers is so good at this."

You shrug. "He puts up a stink, but he's not an idiot - he knows no one wants to look like a chump in front of Captain America."

“Y/n?”

Maria’s eyes widened on your paling face at the sound of your name being called by a voice you hadn’t heard in three years and not-enough-change.

“Y/n? That _ is _ you!” The man coming towards you in a tux is handsome enough, if you weren’t surrounded by the world’s prettiest pains in the ass. Charming smile, warm eyes...too bad it was all a veneer, an act. “You look amazing!”

Maria is standing by your side, her stance no longer relaxed, and you're peripherally aware the Avengers are taking cues from her body language, circling around the three of you while you stand there like a dumb statue.

At least they’re sort of subtle, considering how spread across the room they are.

He hugs you in the too-many moments you stand there, frozen like a stupid deer in headlights, presses two kisses to his cheeks, stepping back just barely far enough for your nose to no longer be drenched in the smell - stench, more accurately - of his favorite cologne.

Maria's nose actually wrinkles, and it jars you enough to take possession of your own limbs back.

The moment crystallizes in your mind, Wrangler abilities finally _finally_ coming back online with the speed of the internet circa 1998.

Mark is standing there, stupidly expectant smile on his face. Over his shoulder you can see Wilson and Barnes stalking forward in a slow tandem that's no less predatory - or maybe murderous is a better word? - for it's lack of haste. 

From the right, Nat and Barton are circling slowly closer. Rogers is side-eyeing Mark from the other side, and you can feel Banner and Stark staring from the bar, though at least Pepper has a restraining arm on Tony that seems to be keeping them leashed for the moment.

“Maria, Mark. Mark, Maria.” You manage to say.

Mark’s eyes jump between the two of you, reading the tension in Maria - wrongly- and the closeness of her body to yours, which you know is defensive not possessive, just like how you know Mark will miss that distinction. “Is this the new me?”

He doesn’t mean anything by it. Just another careless comment. He was always so good at them.

“No.” You tell him, still a little numb from the shock. “Maria is a coworker. She’s down here in D.C. most of the time. I’m just visiting with my team.”

“And Mark is…” Maria asks, just as the rest of the team arrives within earshot.

Mark’s face is the picture of charmed surprise as he looks at you with only a tiny bit of ‘tsk tsk’ on that smug, stupid, handsome face. “I’m her ex-husband.”

Oh. Oh, if this wasn’t your life it would be  _ comical _ .

Barnes actually trips on air and nearly takes out the poor caterer with the shrimp balls.

Wilson at least recovers before he crashes into someone.

Barton’s jaw drops open, gaze moving like a ping pong ball between you and Mark.

Rogers’ eyes go wide for a half second, and then it’s back to his ‘Captain’ face as he starts to move a lot closer a lot faster.

Nat’s eyes narrow and you know you’ll have to take the Black Widow aside after introductions are made and explicitly state that you do not want to hear about Mark’s untimely demise one morning in a newspaper.

“Yes. Mark is my ex.”

“She didn’t tell you anything about me?” Mark asks, the picture of wounded male pride and you have to strangle the urge to wound more than just his pride. Ruthlessly. “I’m hurt, y/n.”

“You’re about to be.” You manage to grit through your teeth, because now it’s too late and the damage is done and you’re still standing here in ridiculously high, sharp heels and you can’t stab him with them because you’re in public  _ goddammit  _ and now everyone is going to know about your personal life.

It is your literal worst nightmare - right after Ultron 2.0 and small spaces.

Something in your tone gets through to your block-head of an ex at the exact same moment he realizes there are now several fairly large bodies blocking him in.

He doesn’t faint as he looks around at the most recognizable faces in America, but it’s a close thing, and it’s enough a balm on your soul that you manage to push down the bubbling vitriol Mark always manages to bring out in you.

“Mark, these are the Avengers. Avengers, this is Mark.”

Watching Mark wilt under the infamous Rogers ‘Eyebrows of Dissappointment’ is something you’ll treasure forever. “Uh...It’s an honor...to meet...you all.”

Maria's hand slips into your own and offers supportive squeeze as the individual Avengers introduce themselves and you shoot her an appreciative smile before turning back to your douchebag of an ex.

"I had no idea you were in the big leagues these days, y/n."

"Well, look at the time." Stark has joined the party. "Avengers, our jet's waiting." He barely graces Mark with a glance. "Sorry. You know how it is - people to save, places to be."

Something cracks, internally, as the Avengers basically escort you out of the party to the waiting cars and you button absolutely everything down as tightly as you can for the twenty minutes it takes to reach the tarmac.

You're positive conversation is happening but you can't hear it. Dimly, you're aware of people moving around you, but it's all so far away, so distant. Nothing feels real - nothing feels here, and you're thankful because under the numbness and distance is a storm of feeling you just...can't make yourself face.

It isn't until Nat pulls you down on to a couch in the common space that the levee breaks and you find yourself sobbing into the shoulder of the world's most formidable (maybe) ex-assassin.

Someone drapes a blanket over you as you hiccup the last few sobs and you look over your shoulder to see Rogers sitting there, hand on your back. He gives you a short nod, then starts to rub small soothing circles as you turn and bury your face against Nat again.

Barton offers you a box of kleenex, gives you a soft smile as you give him a watery one, and then moves as Wilson shoves him to the side, and you laugh at the display of half a dozen ice cream flavors - all with spoons stuck in them - on the tray he sets on the coffee table.

"Didn't know what your favorite flavor was." He offers, looking for once, apologetic.

Banner clicks the remote and settles into the far section of the couch as Barnes and Stark drop onto the remaining chairs. "Disney movies are all cued up."  That gets him some looks and he shrugs. "They're comforting."

And after a little while, surrounded by your team, you watch dancing and singing mice while they rib each other over ice cream flavors and who knows the most song lyrics, you finally fall asleep.


	32. The One With Your Ex-Husband P2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I took my lunch break to write this - just felt like it needed a conclusion.

“I’m just saying,” Barnes complains as you step off the elevator. “No one would ever have to know. It could look like an accident.”

“She said no.” The disappointment in Nat’s voice comes through loud and clear and you can’t quite stop the wince that travels through you as you approach the kitchen. “I asked. Even Fury said no.”

“You asked Fury if you could murder my ex-husband?”

Barton is the only one who doesn’t flinch at your words.

“Ah...how long...how much of that did you hear?” Rogers asks, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

It’s a little funny to think of Captain America standing around while Barnes and Nat shoptalk murder and that’s enough to gentle your temper, and smooths the edges of the headache you can already feel brewing.

“You can’t blame us,” Stark says defensively. “The guy’s a total tool, y/n. And that’s something, coming from me.”

“You are a ginormous tool,” You agree and you have to work not to smile as he scowls at you. “But seriously guys, leave Mark alone.”

“You sure about that?” Wilson asks, crossing those beefy arms over his chest and settling back against the counter. “We could just...key his car or something. At least.”

You shake your head, a little baffled. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, guys, but...why is this such a big deal? He’s a dick, I divorced him, and ne’er again did our two paths cross or whatever.”

“Okay,” Banner jumps in now, because hey, why not? “One, he made you cry.”

“Yeah,” Wilson seconds. “That’s  _ our _ job.”

You’re not the only one who smiles at that.

“And two...okay, I don’t really have a two,” Banner admits. “But he made you cry. And that just...isn’t cool.”

“Okay, but seriously, I just wasn’t expecting to see him there. It hit me a little harder than I expected.” The admission sucks, but it’s the truth, and you’re about two days too late to pretend like they didn’t all witness your disproportionate sobfest. “And while I appreciate your herculean restraint in not mentioning the crying - seriously, thank you - this is...it’s not really necessary. We have missions to prep, bad guys to catch-”

“You’re part of the team.” Barnes’ interruption stops you with its simplicity. “We take care of the team.”

“What Manchurian Candidate said.” Stark barely dodges the plum Barnes throws at him. “What? I’m agreeing with you!”

Barton is the only one who hasn’t spoken, paying his leftover pizza far more attention than it deserves and your honorary spidey-senses go on full alert.

“Barton…” You watch him flinch now. “What did you do?”

“Who did what?” He asks as the whole team turns to look at him. “Speak up - my hearing isn’t so great.”

You level him a look that shows exactly how funny you find him in this moment.

With a long-suffering sigh, he pushes to his feet and comes over to you, his hand resting on your shoulder in that paternal way he did all those years ago when he’d recruited you to S.H.I.E.L.D. and gives you his own look. One that says whatever he did was as justified as it was inevitable.

And then he walks off towards the elevator.

“Wait, what did he do?” Wilson asks. “And why isn’t she yelling at him? How is that fair?”

When Fury calls you up to his office a couple hours later, you can honestly say you don’t have a clue about what he’s talking about, though your credibility is somewhat tarnished when he shows you the pictures that were sent ‘anonymously’ to several of D.C.’s finest news outlets.


	33. The One Where Bucky Tries Stand Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Once again, I was left unsupervised with coffee before work

The klaxxon alert sound on your phone pulls you from your first restful sleep this week with a potentially unreasonable amount of swear words as you fumble to bring up the screen.

_ Barnes: I need advice _

The text comes in with its usual fanfare - all of your texts from Barnes are set to bypass the ‘do not disturb’ feature by virtue of experience, because if Barnes is texting you about it, it’s too late to course correct and keep him from doing something dumb. The best you can hope for is to get there fast enough to deal with the fallout.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“Where is Barnes?”

“The Manchurian Candidate is not currently in the Tower.” F.R.I.D.A.Y informs you as you struggle free of your sheets and hastily yank on jeans and a sweater. “Would you like me to track his phone?”

“Yes please.” You grab your own phone, shove your un-socked feet into your sneakers. “And put me through to him, ASAP.”

The call goes straight to voicemail.

_ Barnes: Nevermind, I already did the thing. _

Oh. God.

“Y/n? I have located Sergeant Barnes.”

“Put it through to my cell.” You order, already on the way out the door.

Your set of very fake, but very real-looking credentials get you through the door without having to deal with the very long line, though the bouncer isn’t exactly pleased with you.

Step Up Stand Out Night at the comedy club is apparently very popular.

The crowd is laughing as you step into the club proper and see James Buchannon Barnes standing on stage under the spotlight, mic in hand.

Not Barnes attempting to blend in, run under the radar utilizing all those wonderful spy and assassin skills.

No, no this is the Winter Soldier, the White Wolf, Steve Rogers’ best friend and historical figure of Americana fame, standing on stage during comedy open mic night, metal arm glinting in the light, impossible to miss.

He does this sometimes - makes himself so unmissable that people can't ignore him. Obnoxiously loud and hyper-visible. Public-disturbance-bordering-on-menance level visible.

You're fairly sure it coincides with the times when he gets a little too in his own head about his time with Hydra. Like a deliberate middle finger to all those years of being erased, put away, silenced.

“I mean, really. If a guy with one arm speaks sign language, is it an accent or a speech impediment?”

When the laughter dies down, he grins directly at you before delivering the next joke because he’s  _ Barnes. _

“So the other day, I went into a secondhand store. And one of the employees...she told me I probably wouldn’t find what I was looking for.”

You settle in for a long night of bad jokes.

“What’d ya think?” He asks twenty minutes later, leaning against the wall beside you with a reckless grin.

“Thank you for keeping it clean?” You offer, noting how many people are attempting to snap pics of the Winter Soldier on their phones. “Also, PR will want to talk to you tomorrow about all the twitter hashtags and viral video clips.”

He pouts. “You didn’t think I was funny.”

“That’s irrelevant. And not my job.”

“Come on, y/n.” He whines as you steer him towards the exit. Genuinely  _ whines _ . “Tell me what you thought and I will go home with you _right now_.”

The gasp of the nearest audience members makes you whirl on him because you know - and he knows by the shit-eating grin on his face - how that’ll get quoted and blown up.

He's looking far too pleased with himself.

Oh, Barnes wants to play? 

Fine.

“But baby,” You purr and have the pleasure of watching panic flash in those Brooklyn-born blue eyes at your tone and your 180 body language, which has gone from colleague to sex kitten with a speed that would give even a super soldier whiplash. “You know the doctor said we shouldn’t...you know…” You bite your lip and flutter your lashes as you glance around before stage whispering. “Until that little rash you have clears up.”

And then you turn and walk out of the club, fully aware of the way people are looking at Barnes now.

"Did you see what the tabloids printed about Barnes?" Maria asks on your morning call. "Where do they get half of this stuff?"

You grin down at the National Enquirer's headline - brought to your office courtesy of one smirking Tony Stark - and say in your best professional voice. "No idea."

_ Super Soldier STDs?! Full story on page 3... _


	34. Emotional Jumper Cables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker had a bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I don't know why, but I have this headcanon that Clint is forever snacking...

You'll never tell anyone, but you actually _like_ Peter Parker. Something about the puppy-like earnestness that lingers around that cherubic face just radiates a goodness you want to protect. 

He's become a regular feature at the Avengers Tower. Hanging with Tony and Banner, sometimes in the lab, sometimes just around. Showing Rogers the latest in social media (Steve shouted 'yeet' every time he threw the shield for a week). Letting Barnes and Wilson talk him into being the acrobatic target practice. Just chilling with Nat, who alternates between teaching him truly vicious takedowns and spy-craft with a terrifying gentleness and patience.

So seeing him sitting at the kitchen counter on a random afternoon isn't a shock.

Seeing him with his head pillowed in his hands, looking like he's a few minutes from crying? Whole 'nother story. Nat is sitting next to him, gently rubbing his back while Barton watches with moderate concern as he snacks on a bag of M&Ms.

"What's up, Baby spider?" You ask, aiming for casual.

"Nothin'."

It's a lie. A laughably obvious one.

"You wanna try again?" 

He raises his head and you can see the red-rimmed tell tales of a crying jag. "I don't wanna talk about it. Bad day."

You tamp down the urge to find out who made Parker cry - for now. "Okay. I think I have something that can help."

"You do?"

“Emotional jumper cables.” You nod sagely.

Nat is about two seconds away from laughing, and Barton isn’t far behind her.

Peter Parker, however, is one of the most gullible people you’ve ever met. He’s also waaaay too trusting for a teenager these days, let alone one who spends his free time fighting actual crime in the Greater New York area. 

So he’s looking at you with only a mild amount of emotionally-compromised curiosity. “Jumper cables? How does that actually...work? Is that a thing Banner’s working on?”

“Oh. No. But it is medically approved. I’ve even got a pair on me - let me show you. Stand up.”

He does, and Baby Spider doesn’t even try to move away as you step closer. “Here, this one goes...here...and this one goes like that…”

Peter Parker is now very confused, and Nat’s breath is sounding suspiciously like wheezing. “Uh, y/n? This...is a hug.”

“Is it working?” You ask.

There’s a pause, and then you feel his arms wrap around you and some of the tension drain from his frame. “...Yeah.”


	35. The One With The Wallabies

“What’d we got on the menu today?” Wilson rubs his hands together as he drops into one of the conference room chairs.

It’s Monday morning, which means a review of the currently open cases the Avengers - or more accurately, the analysts - have pending. Notes on progress, or lack thereof, division of labor...all that fun stuff.

“We got that trafficker in Malta.” Rogers tosses the folder containing his unreadable post-mission notes on the table. “And the U.N. taskforce is at a standstill on that enriched vibranium. They’d like our help on that.”

You nod because you’ve already read the request they submitted. “Banner?”

“On it.” Bruce says. “I have some ideas.”

“The situation in Belarus is getting unstable.” Nat is next. “I’m going to hop on a jet this afternoon and see what I can find on the ground.”

“You’re taking Barton?”

She and Clint nod in time.

“Stark?”

“I’ll be here. Running my billion dollar company and not seeing my wife for the eleventh day in a row.”

You aren’t the only one to roll your eyes at his pouting statement. Thank god Pepper comes home tomorrow - Tony is just too much of a pain in the ass without her.

“Barnes?”

“Crop circles.” He shrugs as everyone turns to look at him. “From the Tasmanian ministry of agriculture. They sent in the request through all the proper channels. I want to find out if there actually are aliens making crop circles.”

You pull up the request on your tablet and sigh. “Barnes…”

“Don’t take this from me, y/n.”

“Yeah,” Wilson jumps in, sensing the opportunity to dig under your skin by supporting Barnes. “I wanna know too.”

“It’s not aliens.” You huff. “Which you would realize if you’d actually read all the way through the brief.”

“Kids with nothing to do?” Tony guesses.

“Publicity seeking farmers?” 

You shake your head, knowing they won’t let this go now. “Guys, it’s a poppy field.” At the blank looks all around you sigh. “Poppy as in opium." Still no sign of comprehension. "The local wallaby population has been going into the field at night and eating the poppies and then running around like lunatics.”

“What?”

“Stoned wallabies?” The suspicion is writ large across Barnes’ face and you sigh, pulling up a video on your tablet and tossing it into the air over the table as it plays.

“Well, shit.” Clint says as the video plays out. “That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”


	36. Tax Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're doing your taxes

"Whatcha doing?" Wilson asks as he takes in the sight of you with papers spread across the table, scowling at your laptop.

"Go away, Wilson. I'm busy." There's a little furrow between your brows that he's only used to seeing when you're completely absorbed in something - totally focused - and like a hunting cat spotting prey, he knows his time has come.

He glances down at a couple of the papers. 

Receipts.

Spreadsheets.

Calculator.

Interest statements.

"Are you filing your taxes?" He asks. "You know there's an accounting department, right?"

You snort. For such a small and otherwise average human, you manage to make the sound loud. "Yes. And they told me they would look it over but after last year, I'm on my own."

"Probably because you tried to claim us all as dependents." Romanoff's voice comes from behind him and Wilson swears and tries not to resent her laugh as he almost jumps.

"Put a bell on," He grumbles. "Wait...we're all adults."

"Eh..." You have the nerve to waffle your hand back and forth. "Chronologically? Sure." You fix Nat with a glower. "I still don't understand why I can't - I mean...have you seen how much I do for this family? And since I end up doing all the paperwork for you guys anyway..." You shake your head. "Nevermind. I'm just gonna use TurboTax this year."

The chatter goes on, but Wilson's brain is stuck on one word you'd said, like a tuning fork that just won't fade from the back of his mind.

Family.

You called them a family.

Unironically.

"I'll uh," He feels the need to be elsewhere suddenly. "I'll see you later."

You and Nat both give him a look. "Okay." 

"Was that weirder than usual?" He hears you ask as he walks out of the room and nearly trips over Barnes. "That was weirder than usual, right? I'm gonna have to check on him later aren't I?"


	37. Get Back Here, Rogers!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Managing Rogers' dating life is a hassle and a half...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Sorry my updates are so sporadic these days y'all - I'm struggling to maintain a level mindset these days and working really freaking takes it out of me. Hoping to get more consistent again soon!
> 
> Also, please note that I am *completely* Steve Rogers when people ask me about my love life - I too would throw myself out of a plane with no parachute 😂

Bucky Barnes was minding his own goddamn business, cleaning his guns on his bedroom floor - not, as Wilson insisted, in a display of dominance but because it was the only surface big enough to hold most of his guns - when Steve Rogers came barreling around the corner and into his room in a full-tilt panic, eyes wide, glancing over his shoulder.

"Help me.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth and ask what the fuck was going on when he heard your dulcet bullhorn of a voice from the hall.

“Rogers, get back here you goddamn coward!”

Steve flinched. Physically. “Help, Buck.”

“Closet.” Bucky said, settling in with a nonchalance that suggested he hadn’t moved in several hours.

As entertaining as it was to watch Steve cram his hulking body into Bucky’s very modest closet - at least the goof left the door slightly cracked - it was nothing compared to watching you enter the doorway of his room.

You looked about two steps from breathing fire, eyes flashing with a ripe kind of violence that made Bucky very, very glad he wasn’t Steve. Your form might've been human, but the frustration boiling off you made Bucky think of myths of Furies and warrior queens. “You seen Rogers?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not for a couple hours. What’s up?”

Your shoulders shook with strain as your jaw ground.

Bucky would have bet you’d crush glass between your molars right now.

Steve must’ve really stepped in it.

“He has a date.”

Bucky fought the urge to slide his eyes to the closet door. “Good for him?”

You shook your head and Bucky noticed there was a distinctly frazzled look about your normally corralled locks, as if you’d run your hands over them several times.

“Not...good for him?”

You shook your head again and _wow_ , that was some really impressive jaw clenching. “I don’t care that he’s going on a date, but there are  _ protocols _ . Do you know how much work I have to do every time one of you wants to go on a date outside the Tower?” You didn’t wait for a reply, but you did step further into the room. “There’s the background checks - not just on the date, but everyone in their immediate circle. Counter-surveillance. Scoping out the location. A million and one security items.”

“Seems...sensible…” Bucky is now measuring how close you are to his weapons with growing unease.

“I don’t really care that Rogers is going on dates - I mean, yay, good for him.” You’re on a tear now. “He spends too much time brooding in between missions, and Nat has been on me for like a year to get him out more.”

“So what’s the problem?” He _really_ does not like how close you are to the edge of his weapons right now because you actually look like you’d like to use one on someone.

“The problem,” You grit the two words. “Is that he refuses to give me more than a couple hours notice! And when I try to pin him down on the details, he literally runs away!”

Bucky is glad you’re ranting now because he can’t stop the side eye he sends the closet. “That does seem a bit cowardly.”

“Last time,” You continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Last time he literally jumped out of the Quinjet to avoid the questions! Without a parachute! Who the fuck does that?!”

Bucky’s eyes could burn a hole in the closet door. “That does sound like something the punk would do.”

He hopes Steve is sweating bullets.

“Anyway. I’m going to go check the training floor. If you see Rogers, tell him his ass is grass when I find him.”

Bucky nods, resumes cleaning his guns and watches you stomp out in a huff. 

It takes a few minutes, but Steve opens the closet door and steps back out into the room, looking sheepish.

“No parachute, huh?” Bucky asks coolly, and watches Steve’s shoulders creep up, as if he could turtle his way out of the lecture that he knows is coming.

“It wasn’t...I knew there was water at the bottom…”

“Did you.” It isn’t a question, but Bucky watches the tips of Steve’s ears go pink.

You stand stock still in the hallway as Barton stealths his way down the hall to join you as you listen to Barnes give Rogers the chewing out of a  _ lifetime _ . Your smile is so big and sharp it could probably qualify as a laser as Barton adjusts his hearing aids to compensate for the growing volume.

_ You’re too devious for your own good _ , he signs.

You shrug and sign back,  _ That’s why they pay me the big bucks. _

Barton snorts, and the sound is swallowed up by the inventive string of swear words Barnes is hurling. You make a note to ask F.R.I.DA.Y. to translate the Russian ones for you later - you definitely haven’t heard some of these before...


	38. Traitors After the Triskelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set soon(ish) after the fall of the Triskelion

“I’ve become a soft idiot, a sappy motherfucker, a sentimental bastard if you will.” You mutter to your glass of whiskey, practically pillowing your head on your arms atop the bar.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?” Maria asked.

You shoot her a side-eye loaded with meaning.

She holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Never mind.”

“I should have just...stabbed him when I had the chance.”

Maria glares at the bartender before he can top off your glass again and you pout as he beats a quick retreat. “Stop beating yourself up for not knowing better. None of us saw this coming.”

“I should have. I was his T.O., Maria. I should have seen  _ something _ .” You know you have to pull yourself together. Have to resurrect your walls, sharpen your will, steel your spine before you can even think about setting foot in the Tower.

But truthfully?

You’re shook.

Another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who’s alliances turned out to lie elsewhere.

You’d seen so many of them in the early days after the fall of the Triskelion. You just hadn’t expected... _ this _ …someone you had trained. Someone who you would have sworn was the real deal, true-blue, good guy.

And now your team - the Avengers - were setting up to track him and his weapons smuggling ring down.

“You can stab him when you catch him.” Maria says and you laugh as the man in the suit who’s been inching closer behind her overhears and nopes the fuck out of whatever pickup play he was about to attempt. “What you can’t do? Sit here and throw yourself a pity party with booze.”

“Watch me.”

“You want Barnes or Wilson to see you hungover tomorrow?”

You scowl at her because, dammit, she has a point and now that glass looks less like a soothing mind-numbing fix and more like a cup full of Not Worth It.

“Any of them say anything to you?” She asks, relaxing as you push the glass away.

You snort softly. “They didn’t have to.”

“Hey,” Her voice goes soft and supportive and it makes your insides cringe because, Jesus, you must look pathetic right now. “You’re human. You’re allowed to miss one every once in a while.”

There’s something else in her eyes...something that has your slightly-booze soaked senses sharpening. “What else do you know, Hill?”

Maria Hill actually squirms on her barstool. “God, that’s an effective ‘spill the beans’ look.”

“Hill…”

“Okay, okay. I may have been stopped by, like, every one of them on my way through the Tower. They’re...concerned...for you. But in your corner. One hundred percent. I don’t think anyone would think less of you for passing on this one.”

“I can do my damn job.” There’s a tiny, pathetic spark of anger in your chest. You don’t need the Avengers to look out for you -  _ you _ look out for  _ them _ .

Distantly, you’re aware that it’s ridiculous, but anger is a lot more motivating than whatever else has been swirling through you the last two days.

“Come on,” You tell Maria, standing and plunking down cash on the bar. “Let’s get out of here.”

The mission goes off without a single hitch.

No one fucks up the plan. Wilson and Barnes don’t start in on their ultra-competitive bullshit. Rogers manages to only do one moderately stupid thing, and Barton even refrains from making ‘pew pew’ noises when he shoots his arrows this time.

It’s the smoothest mission you’ve ever run with Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

You should be happy.

It's incredibly dissatisfying.

Your former trainee is a little worse for wear by the time Wilson shoves him up the ramp of the quinjet, cuffed and bruised. You raise an eyebrow at Wilson.

He shrugs. “Fucker’s clumsy.”

“What he said.” Barnes seconds as you notice a bruise pattern that looks suspiciously similar to the metal plates of his vibranium hand.

Your former trainee’s glare calls them a pair of liars until he sees you standing there and you watch him pull on the face of sympathy as you slowly walk over.

“Y/n,” He starts “This is all just a big misun-”

He doesn’t get a chance to get the rest out as you slam your fist into his solar plexus, doubling him over and stepping aside as he upchucks all over the floor.

Barnes and Wilson high five and grin at you like excited puppies while Nat sighs and hands them each a fifty.

“Told ya!” Wilson teases, dragging your former trainee back to his feet and shoving him into a seat as you make your way back to the cockpit. “I told you she’d want to make him hurt!”

No one but Nat sees your satisfied smile as she slips into the copilot’s seat next to you, and the rest of the ride back to the Avengers Tower is like every other mission before - Barton whines about stopping for food, Wilson and Barnes trade insults, Rogers practically kicks the back of your seat with his ‘our we there yet’? - okay, he doesn’t  _ actually _ say that, but the tone is the same as he checks your ETA every five minutes until you threaten to turn this jet around… - and Stark is too busy fiddling with the suit to cause too much trouble except for the quick quip here and there.

It's normal. It feels good.


	39. A Simple Prank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hey all, sorry it's been so long! I think I've just a touch too much going on right now - hoping to get back to more writing in November. Hope everyone is staying safe and well!

Sometimes you put a bunch of misfits together and you get a family. Sometimes you get a bunch of assholes.

You?

You somehow wound up with both.

“Can’t you hit him with your knife?” Barton asks.

“I believe the technical term is ‘stab’.” You grit your teeth. “And I  _ could _ . But it is generally frowned on to stab people you’re responsible for. Plus, he’d just heal anyway.”

Though,  _ God _ you are  _ tempted _ as you survey the brightly colored balls that are drowning your room. It’s a pool that’s waist deep, held back from the hallway by the thin barrier of cling-wrap taped to the edges of the doorway.

“Hey,” Nat joins you and Barton. “Oh. Wow. Barnes?”

“Yes.” The word wears your enamel down by at least a millimeter.

“I thought she should just stab him.” Barton offers helpfully.

Nat shakes her head. “Nah. She’ll just let him sit in holding overnight next time he gets arrested.”

“Oh, he’ll hate that.” Barton’s nod of agreement is practically cartoonish. “He hates the drunk tank.”

The three of you share a long look of satisfaction at the thought of Barnes complaining about how long it will take for him to wash the smell of vomit out of his thick locks.

Petty? Yes.

Satisfying? Also yes.

"In the meantime," Nat eyes the impromptu ball pit of your room. "Shall we play a game?"


	40. The One Where You Get Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where You Get Kidnapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Woo! FINALLY another adventure in wrangler-land. I missed this...Here's hoping my brain gets it together this month!
> 
> Also (and always) - thanks for reading!

It was inevitable, really, you think. Honestly, you should have been expecting this.

You’d _planned_ for it, naturally. Contingencies, operational changes, the works.

That didn’t make it any less embarrassing how surprised you were to wake up handcuffed in a shitty basement on a couch that you were  _ not _ going to look at too closely.

You’d been kidnapped.

You groaned as you rocked upright, swinging your feet - bare, cold - to the floor. Your head was pounding like a college drumline on Saturday night in football season. Was that because of the tequila shots or whatever they’d roofied you with? you wondered, even as you catalogued the loss of weapons on your person.

“You’re awake.” The words of your kidnapper were confident as you raised your head. “Good.”

You rolled your shoulders experimentally before looking at your captor. “Crossbones.”

“You’ve heard of me.” His face is a patchwork of burn scars, but his lips still twist into a macabre smile. Your snort goes unnoticed as his chest puffed. “I’ll make this simple, doll. You behave, and I won’t kill you before your friends come to rescue you.”

“What friends?” You ask, batting your eyes at him in a display of cluelessness.

“Cap. Barnes. Wilson. Romanoff…” He shrugs. “I’m betting they’ll do just about anything to keep you safe.”

“You really don’t know them.” You mutter, thinking about how just this morning you’d chewed out Wilson for breaking  _ another _ set of Falcon wings.

“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” He pulls out your phone and presses the screen. The ring of the call fills the shitty silence of the room on speaker.

It gets two rings before it dumps the call into Rogers’ voicemail. _This is Steve Rogers. I'm not available right now..._

Incredulous, Rumlow stares at the phone, then you. “Did he just...send you to voicemail?”

Now it’s your turn to shrug, with an insincere smile that’s all tooth. “Must be busy.”

Rumlow’s scowl should be terrifying, but you’ve gone toe to toe with the Black Widow in a fight, backed the Hulk down from a rampage, and you’ve even seen Barnes after he forgets to use his hydrating conditioner. “Well, let’s just work our way through your contacts and see who picks up first.”

Barnes is next, and the phone doesn’t even get a chance to ring before it goes into the very not-customized ‘the caller you are trying to reach…’ spiel.

Then it’s Wilson. The call rings and rings and rings before Rumlow finally ends the call. A moment later a text comes through and Rumlow blinks down at the screen in obvious confusion.

“What’d he say?” You ask, and Rumlow obliges by turning the screen to show you.

_ New phone. Who dis? _

Romanoff and Barton’s calls don’t even go through. 

Banner doesn’t have a phone, and Stark’s goes through to his assistant, who puts Rumlow on hold. Muzak plays for fifteen minutes straight before Rumlow realizes he’s not going to get put through to anyone.

“What is  _ wrong _ with these people?” He mutters, having apparently forgotten you’re there.

“I  _ know _ .” You quip, pulling your feet back onto the couch and tucking them beneath you because your toes are getting a little chilled. “Don’t they get how much work you had to put into this?”

Rumlow’s eyebrows raise, clearly uncertain of what to make of you, fingers hovering over your contacts list.

“Try Rogers again,” You suggest. “He probably was just actually busy.”

The eyebrows don’t come down, but his finger does, and the phone rings again.

“Y/n?” Rogers’ voice echoes oddly in the basement from the tiny speaker. “Y/n, everyone’s been getting calls from you but there’s no alerts out…”

“Heya, Cap.” Rumlow grins now and you settle back against the couch cushions. Might as well watch the show. “You don’t call, don’t write…”

“Rumlow.” Oh, there’s a glacier’s worth of cold in Rogers’ voice now. “Put Y/n on right now.”

“She’s fine.” Rumlow says. “But if you want her to stay that way…”

“Hold up.” Rogers says and you can’t hold back your own smile as Rumlow’s jaw actually drops. There’s some background noises, voices blended together and you hear the distinctive scream of the milk steamer Stark added last week to the communal kitchen. “Okay, you’re on speaker. Everyone’s here except Barton and Romanoff.”

You narrow your eyes at the phone, not noticing as Rumlow takes a tiny half-step back. “They should be back by now. Where are they, Rogers?”

“They may have...stopped for baked goods…”

“Rogers…” You warn.

“Theyjusthappenedtobeflyingoverbudapestandsaidtheyllbehomesoonokay?”

You just sigh.

It takes Rumlow a minute to regain his footing.

“So, I ah...I have your little friend-”

“She’s not our friend.” Wilson and Barnes chorus.

Rumlow looks at you and you give him a ‘what can ya do?’ shrug of sympathy.

“Look,” He snaps, a little testily and you can’t blame him because Earth’s Mightiest Heroes do  _ not _ make anything easy. “I have your...I have Agent y/l/n, and if you want to see her alive again, you’re going to follow my explicit instructions. Or,” He adds and there is definitely hints of cranky in his voice. “I can start sending her back to you in pieces.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

Stark is the one who finally speaks. “Not that this hasn’t been a fun blast from the past, Brock, old buddy, old pal...But you’ve tragically misinterpreted the situation.”

“Yeah,” Barnes chimes in, sounding much closer to phone now. “You don’t ‘have’ y/n. She has you.”

“Good luck with that.” Banner adds. “Seriously.”

In the background the elevator chimes and there’s the distinctive sound of Pepper’s heels on the floor. “What’s going on?” You hear her ask. “Why are you all standing over the phone? Where’s y/n?”

“I’m fine, Pep.” You call. “Are we still on for movie night tonight?”

“Yep.” She pops the p sound, a verbal tell of how excited she is. “Nat promised to bring Mákosguba back with her. Hill should be wrapping up that committee hearing just in time, and Jane and Darcy should be back from the museum in another hour or so. I’m ordering takeout from that place we went to last week in Queens.”

“Can’t wait.” You are going to be  _ starving _ by the time you get back to the Tower.

“What is wrong with you people?” Rumlow asks again.

“Who’s that?” Pepper asks, and Stark’s voice is a low rumble as her heels clack - you’d guess he’s steered his better half away to explain, a guess that is confirmed a couple seconds later. “What?! And you’re not going to get her? What is wrong with you, Tony?”

“Pep!” You interject before she can really get going. “Pep, I’m fine. I’ll be back in time for movie night.”

“Because Tony’s going to give whoever is holding you what they want?” Pepper asks, and it’s not a question for you.

You roll your eyes as Tony sputters and Rumlow looks at the phone with the kind of regret you haven’t seen since the fifth grade when your best friend publicly confessed his crush on Marcy Thompson in front of the entire cafeteria.

“Pepper!” You try again, putting a little more steel in your tone this time. “Pep, stop yelling at Stark.”

“I’ll yell at him if I want to.”

“I’m trying to ransom a hostage here, people!” The phone falls silent as Rumlow snaps, and it holds for a beat. Then two. Then…

“Are you  _ still there _ ?” Barnes asks and you can see the frown on his face.

“He put so much effort into this,” You admit. “It seemed rude to not at least let him try. Also,” You raise your newly freed hands and wave at Rumlow. “I had to dislocate the thumb to get out of the cuffs and you guys were a great distraction.”

Wilson’s snort comes through loud and clear. “Okay, well this has been fun. Call us if you need us, y/n.”


	41. "Forgiveness is Divine"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker's side gig is pizza delivery, and it sparks a conversation, a revelation, and a surprise for EMH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taken from the prompt: What if the TMNT existed in the MCU and no one ever talked about it because who wants to admit they got beat up by turtles?

"Ohmygodsogood," You hissed while shoveling another slice of still-hot pie into your mouth.

From around you, Earth's Mightiest Heroes made noises of their own agreement.

It'd been a long, stupid day defending the Earth from another wannabe Evil Overlord, and by the time the jet touched back down at Avengers Tower, you had a plane full of hungry, cranky superheroes and exactly one single nerve after all the backseat piloting.

So when the whole team had trouped off the elevator to the common area and you'd seen Peter Parker with a dozen boxes of hot pie from the best pizza place in NYC, you could have wept tears of joy.

"Howsthejob?" You managed to ask around a mouthful of hot tomato sauce and cheese.

"It's good." Peter grinned at you. "I get to see some weird shit though."

"Language!" Nat yelled.

Parker rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You guys do realize I'm in college now? I can swear."

You snorted. Barton rolled his eyes. Stark laughed, and so did Barnes.

"You'll always be Baby Spider to us." Wilson informed him, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. For a non-super soldier, he really did have a scary metabolism...

"Weirdest thing you've seen this month. Go. Story." Barton demanded as he adjusted the box sitting half-balanced on his knee and Nat's thigh.

"Well, ah...It's pretty uh, it's pretty weird." The youngest Avenger flushed under the eyes turned on him expectantly now. "Oh, okay. So, like, I get this order for like, five pies. And they want it dropped off at this manhole cover down an alleyway in a not-so-great part of town, right? But it's fine - whatever."

"You were wearing your suit, right?" Stark interrupts.

Parker winces. "Mr. Stark, I can't. Karen keeps trying to activate 'instant kill mode' when someone doesn't tip, and it's just...it's alot, okay?"

Tony opens his mouth and Barnes punches him. "Let 'im tell the damn story."

"So anyway, I'm there, with the pie, feeling like an idiot. And the cover opens. And then this weird dude in a really crazy turtle costume pops up, takes the pie and says 'Forgiveness is divine, but never pay full price for late pizza'."

"Oh!" You swallow a whole chunk of pizza and have to reach for water to quell the coughing fit. "You met the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!"

"The what-now?" Stark asks, eyes narrowed on you.

"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." You say it again, watch Nat mouth it. "Y'know, mutant turtles who fight crime?"

"She's joking, right?" Wilson asks the room at large. "This is a prank."

You shake your head. "Nah. They're real."

"How come we've never heard of them?" Parker asks. 

"Would you want to admit to anyone that you got beat up by a giant, muscle-bound turtle?" You ask, and nod decisively as no one counters. "That's what I thought. Most of the time they say it was Daredevil, or Cage. Lot easier to explain, less bruising to the ego." You frown, thinking back. "I'm sure I told you guys about them..."

"No," Stark's expression is definitely edging towards freaked out. "No, you definitely did not mention escaped science project turtles running around Manhattan!"


	42. Smithsonian Dinosaurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve visit the Smithsonian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't get this one out of my head fast enough

You: Where are Barnes and Noble?

Nat: Field trip :D

You: ...

You: What do you know, Widow?

Nat: They might've said something about visiting the Smithsonian

You: ...

You: ...

Nat: You okay?

You: Don't pretend this wasn't your idea, Natasha

Nat: I don't know what you're talking about 

You: You're a terrible liar

You: Also, you're grounded

"What took you so long?" Barnes demanded as the head of security opened the door to the conference room.

Rogers at least had the good manners to blush under your glare.

"Thanks, Jim." You told him. "Mind if I borrow the room for a few more minutes?"

Jim chuckled and shook his head. "Not at all, doll. You just tell your Ma 'hi' from me and Barb. See you at Nick's party?"

"Wouldn't miss it." You could feel Barnes staring holes in you as you beamed at Jim.

The second he backed out of the room, you turned your attention to the two super soldiers.

"How come he gets to call you 'doll'?" Barnes complained. "You almost stabbed me the one time I called you doll!"

"Jim's my godfather."

Rogers dropped his head into his hands.

"And I actually, y'know, like him as a person. Whereas you two..." You let the sentence trail off ominously. "Imitating wax statues in your own exhibit? Really?"

Rogers turned the shade of red to beat the stripes on the flag. Barnes just grinned unrepentantly.

"We didn't cause any damage." Rogers offered.

"And we signed all those autographs once that kid realized we were real." Barnes added.

"What exactly sparked this genius idea?" You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Well, Nat said-"

"Romanoff said-"

You held up a hand. "Okay. That's enough. She said something about you two being dinosaurs, displays...say no more." You pointed to the door. "We're going to walk through that door, make a straight line to the car. You will not cause any more trouble today. Am I being clear?"

"I didn't get to see the Air and Space museum yet though."

Your glare would have shriveled the balls of mere mortal men, but Barnes just held your gaze with a cheeky smirk. "Barnes?"

"Yes, y/n?"

"I will tell Stark what really happened to his toolkit last week."

Rogers' gaze ping-ponged between the two of you as you stared each other down. 

'You wouldn't' Barnes' gaze challenged mutinously.

Your eyebrows climbed to say, loud and clear, 'oh really?'

"What happened to the toolkit?" Rogers asked finally.

Barnes flushed and looked away and a victoriously sharp smile slid across your own face. "Nothin'."

"Glad to have you on board, Barnes." You jerked your thumb at the door. "Now, let's go."


	43. The One With Australia

"And _why_ is everything poisonous?" Thor asked.

"Or venomous." Loki added, looking a little too entranced with the local fauna.

"Plus the local dialect is...entertaining." 

You slapped Loki's hand away from the snake he'd been eyeballing just in time and sent up a silent prayer to Frigg to magically appear and reclaim her errant children.

No such luck.

"They seem especially foolhardy and reckless. For Midgardians." 

"Comes from being a penal colony, I think." Barton offered, shaking his bag of trail-mix to dislodge any hidden M&Ms. "It is a weird place."

"I like the accent." Wilson pitched his voice in a soul-crushingly bad version of Crocodile Dundee. "Call that a knife? This is a knife."

"Ah yes," Nat's voice was dry. "Australia. Land of great adventures, biodiversity..."

"And terrorists working on chemical weapons." You reminded the group. "Can we at least pretend to focus on the task at hand? Barnes, don't put that in your mouth - Barnes! What did I just say?"

Barnes gave you the bird.

"But what about this...this animal Barton has told us of. The..." Thor's eyes drift to Clint for confirmation. "Pusplaty?"

The entire group bursts into giggles and snickers. It is the hardest thing you've ever done, but you manage to keep a straight face as you ask. "You mean the platypus?"

"Yes?" Thor's tone says he'll roll with it. "I hear it is hard to categorize. Are your scientists sure it's not some remnant of an alien life form?"

The thought strikes you mute for a moment, because, honestly...that would explain soooo much about Australian biodiversity...

"I think you broke her." Loki observes.

"Ah, Australia," Nat sighs, slinging her arm over your shoulder and jolting you back to reality. "Come for the accent, stay for the existential crisis."


	44. The Hammer P.1

You laugh into your drink alongside Thor as another Avenger tries - and fails - to lift Thor’s hammer. The Asgardian and you are both enjoying the show faaaar too much, but it’s been a long couple of weeks, and this evening’s party was letting everyone blow off steam. Something that was, you reflected, long overdue.

Rogers and Barnes are drinking mead alongside the God of Bulging Biceps, and it’s nice to see them looking so...mortal. So ordinary. As if for a moment in time, they’re just two Brooklyn born idiots getting drunk like wholesome college bros.

It’s easy to forget sometimes that neither one of them was a quarter of a century old when they ‘died’.

Nat is flirting outrageously with some friend of Tony’s while Maria and Helen watch - you’d put down money there’s a bet involved somewhere in that mix, but for this brief moment in time, it’s decidedly not your problem.

Clint is spinning drumsticks in his hand, watching with good-natured paternal enjoyment as his friends make idiots of themselves. He catches your eye and the smile grows as he asks, “So, you feeling good enough to approve the Avengers Garage Band?”

You shake your head and he pouts.

When Steve manages to nudge the hammer a couple of inches, you almost snort your drink out of your nostrils at the look on Thor’s face, coughing as relief settles in and Steve steps back.

The party goes on.

Hours later, it’s just you and the cleaning crew, watching the sunrise begin to shift the inky blue-black of night towards twilight gray while you blow on your still-too-hot coffee.

“Mind if I join you?” Barnes doesn’t wait for a reply, dropping onto the couch next to you.

“Please,” You say. “How polite of you to wait for an answer.” You scan him, briefly. “Can’t sleep?”

“You too?”

You huff. “I’m down to about six hours every couple of days. I thought I was gonna die my first year on the job - you all do not make for regular sleeping hours. What’s your excuse?”

“Still drunk.” His tone turns soft as he confesses. “Don’t wanna miss a minute of it.”

You half-turn to take him in, note the tell-tale flush and shiny eyes, and it strikes you just how miraculous this moment is. 

Bucky Barnes has been killed, brainwashed, resurrected, and -despite his absolute commitment to driving you insane- still manages to hold on to the little things, like enjoying being drunk on the outer-space version of Four Loko.

“Steve make it back to your floor okay?” Is what you say, turning back to look at the skyline.

“Yeah.” Bucky laughs. “Though he did leave a Steve-sized dent in the wall off the elevator.” He laughs again and shakes his head. “He’s so...hey, Thor forgot this!”

You turn in time to see his hand close over the handle of the hammer.

Barnes nearly drops it as your hands fumble your mug. “Jesus, what?”

“Ah-uh...nothing.” Oh boy. Oh boy. That’s literally all you can think as the former Winter Soldier, Fist of Hydra, and Massive-Pain-In-Your-Ass-Bucky-Goddamn-Barnes stands there, swaying slightly, holding Thor’s hammer out towards you like you’re actually gonna take it. “You should just...leave that here for him. He’ll get it in the morning.”

Bucky shrugs, sets it down. “You okay, y/n? You look a little pale.”

“Uh-huh. Fine. Just peachy. Just gotta...remembered something I need to check on.”

“Okay.” 

You leave Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch watching the pre-dawn and the second you’re out of super soldier hearing, you ask for F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Yes, y/n?”

“You got that on film, right?”

“Of course.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounds miffed and you shake your head. “Sergeant Barnes and Captain Wilson are still under high-surveillance measures. Should I send the footage to the appropriate media personnel?”

“No!” You shout, then catch yourself. “No, thank you though. Just...hold on to it. For now.”


	45. Jawline of Justice

“Jawline of justice…” You mutter as the interview winds down, shaking your head. “Where do they get this shit?”

Maria snorts beside you. “Are you trying to tell me that Rogers  _ doesn’t _ have the jawline of justice?”

“More like the jawline of just-shoot-me-now.” Your put-upon sigh as you watch the scene before you is absolutely genuine. “He’s going to be insufferable now.”

One shoulder lifts in a gallic shrug beside you. “It’s surprising it’s taken this long. Let’s face it, y/n. We work with the prettiest people on the Earth - the fact that they  _ don’t _ have big egos about it is kind of a surprise.” Her face softens as she glances back at the set assembled by the PR team a couple hours ago for this photoshoot with People Magazine. “I gotta say, these guests are waaaay cuter though.”

“Yeah.” You have to agree on that one as you watch another puppy tromp his way over to Rogers, eyes bright and tongue hanging as his stubby little tail moves his back half.

Rogers looks down at the pup, while the one in his hands squirms and licks the jawline of justice with a whine.


	46. Barbershop Quartet

“What’s this about Rogers having a Barbershop Quartet?” 

You sigh and push back from your desk, standing as the head of PR glowers from the doorway. “Please, come in Bob. Have a seat. Sure I have time to talk right this second about things that aren’t actually important at all.”

“Seriously. What’s the Barbershop Quartet?” Bob sinks into the chair across from you. “And why am I hearing about it around the water cooler instead of from you?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Lord grant you patience… “It’s not an actual Barbershop Quartet.”

“If Rogers is out there doing a cappella, my team should be informed.” Bob gets like this sometimes - he’s wound up, and he needs to go off. “For fuck’s sake, how do you expect me to work like this?”

You’re sympathetic as you recognize this as a key symptom of ‘I-Work-With-Earth’s-Mightiest-Asshole-Itis’.

“I mean, really, is it too much to ask that you make my job easier?”

“Bob-”

“Do you know how many hours we had to clock after the whole indecent exposure pics? And I know,” He levels a glare at you. “I  _ know _ you had something to do with that.”

You shrug, because, yeah, you can’t lie about that. He wouldn’t believe you if you did.

“Bob, look-”

“And then there was the Smithsonian stunt. And the ‘Rumors’ interview. And then someone let Stark sign up for Tik Tok.” The anger goes as quickly as it came and you’re left with a middle-aged man in a suit giving you pathetic puppy eyes from the chair across from you. “Why do you hate me, y/n? What did I do to you?”

“Bob.” You lean back in the chair. “Do you remember what your life was like before I started working here?”

He flinches and sense starts to return. “Not that you aren’t great,” He tries to regain ground, but you can see it slipping away now that someone’s let him blow off a bit of steam. “But I have to insist you keep us informed when one of Them does something like join a band.”

“Bob. Look at me.” Your smile is amused as he focuses. “There is no Barbershop Quartet, or Avengers A Cappella, or Kree-Killers Karaoke. It’s a nickname.” You see the light dawn in his eyes and nod. “Rogers, Barnes, Wilson, Romanov.”

Bob visibly deflates. “Thank god.”

“Rough week?”

He nods, miserable. “Sorry for taking it out on you.”

“These things happen. We cool now?”

He nods again, rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem.” You tell him as he stands and exits your office.

Two minutes later Nat pops her head in the door. “Was that Bob from PR?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s in trouble?”

“No one.”

She blinks at you for a minute. “No, really. Who’s in trouble?”

“Unless one of you did something in the last thirty minutes, no one, Romanov. Now shoo...I have paperwork to do.”

A full minute passes before you look up and see her scrutinizing you closely. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re still here?” You groan as she steps into the room. “I don’t have time for this, Nat.”

“You’re never this chill after a visit from PR.” Her gaze is narrowing on you, scanning from top to bottom. “Are you having an affair with Bob?”

The noises that come out of your mouth couldn’t possibly be mistaken for words, so you just point to the door. "Out."


	47. Operation: Problem Child (P1)

“I’m telling you,” Nat’s voice is urgent, but pitched low. “Something’s up with y/n.”

Barton just shakes his head as Bucky tunes back in from daydreaming about ‘borrowing’ Stark’s flying car for a joyride and seeing if Sam can keep up.

“What makes you say that?” Steve’s concern is genuine, if a bit leery.

Bucky knows from personal, first-hand experience once Steven Grant Rogers adopts someone, there is no ‘out’. It’s surprisingly like the mafia. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. And death.

You’re part of the team, and the team looks after each other.

But you’re also a bit prickly and they’ve all gotten on your bad side once or twice by poking into your business and making assumptions.

Something about ‘drawing healthy boundaries’, Bucky dimly recalls... Whatever _ that _ means, Bucky thinks, snorting softly as Nat turns to face Steve.

“Listen. She’s almost never in a bad mood anymore - do you remember what it was like when she first started? She was always scowling and swearing and pranking us. Now? I just asked if she was having an affair with Bob from PR…”

“He’s married!” Barton literally tosses his hands up and then sinks his head into them. “Nat!”

“Surprised she didn’t shank you,” Bucky scanned Nat. “You don’t  _ look _ like a person who’s been stabbed repeatedly…”

Nat’s head is shaking already. “That’s just it - she sputtered some noises at me and pointed to get out.” Now she nods because the three of them are staring at her. “See? Something’s definitely up.”

There’s a long moment as the three of them think back over the last few weeks.

You  _ had _ been acting a little differently lately. 'Nicer' is probably the right word. Definitely less on his ass about post-op reports and ‘missing’ weapons from the lab. And had you looked a little distracted during the last morning debrief?

“She’s been here longer hours lately.” He admits, thinking back. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells me when she gets back to the Tower and she’ll go days without leaving now.” It had taken a week to bribe the A.I. to report your movements to him and Sam.  For survival purposes, naturally.

Barton’s got a furrow you could drive a tractor through between his eyebrows. “I was actually gonna say I haven’t seen her around as much - she’s hardly ever in her office, and I know it’s not ‘cause she’s on the training floor.”

“Maybe Fury has her working on a special project?” Steve offers, looking less perturbed than the rest of them. Bucky knows that look.

“Spill, punk. What do you know?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing,” He says, defensive, again as three sets of eyebrows rise. “I really don’t. I’m just saying...Fury’d be an idiot not to utilize her skills across the organization. She’s effective, and scary, and efficient.”

“Rogers,” Bucky’s tone is no less threatening for its placidity because he can tell there’s more that that tactician’s mind has pierced together. “I  _ will _ hit you.”

Steve runs a hand over his head and sighs. “Look, I don’t  _ know _ anything. But I overheard Karen from operations in the cafeteria last week-”

“What were you doing there?” Barton asks, making a face. “The food is terrible…”

“Focus.” Nat elbows him. “Continue, Rogers.”

“And did you know they call y/n the Avengers Wrangler? Like, a title. Apparently she’s credited with making  _ us  _ efficient and effective, and if anyone has issues with us, they go running to her first.”

“Well, they’re not wrong.” Barton grunts as Nat elbows him again. “What? It’s true!”

“The point is,” Steve sighs exasperation. “I don’t think this was intended to be a permanent position. And now that we’re more or less functional as a team…”

“They want to move her to another part of the organization.” The logic is solid but leaves a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth, and he can see he’s not alone from the look on his colleagues’ faces. “So what, they start her out with a special project or two…”

Steve’s nodding, and Bucky can see the Captain has worked this train of thought all the way through to its conclusion. “See how well we can function without a Wrangler. Then…”

“Bye bye birdie. Or, well, y/n.” Barton’s face could curdle milk. “It makes sense. She’s still early in her career. Hill and Fury hand picked her for this assignment. She’s popular with the rank and file, too.”

“They’re grooming her to replace Hill when Hill replaces Fury.” Wilson joins the conversation by grabbing a juice box from the fridge. He stabs the straw in and is happily chugging by the time he realizes everyone’s looking at him. “What? It’s obvious. Hell, she’s practically Hill’s right hand man - woman - already.”

For a long moment there’s only the sound of slurping as the five of them exchange worried looks.

“Do...do we want y/n to stay?” Bucky finally asks.

He might enjoy the challenge of jumping up and down on your nerves and you are the world's biggest, most gigantic buzzkill as far he's concerned...but that doesn’t mean he wants you to leave.

Besides, it’ll take forever to break in your replacement, if one can even be found.

“We can find a way to make her stay.” Nat says, and it’s decided. “Operation: Problem Child is a go.”

Barton rolls his eyes. “I want no part in this.”


	48. Operation: Problem Child (P2)

“Long day?”

You groan as Maria steps into your room and shuts the door. “Long week.”

“I thought the docket was pretty light?”

You wave a hand. “It was. Is. It’s just...Shit. It’s like...hell. Actual hell. I don’t know what’s gotten into them this week.”

There’s only ever one ‘them’ you talk about, and Maria has sunk into the comfy armchair in across from where you’re sprawled on the couch, feet propped up over the back in an attempt to bring them some relief from the non-stop running you’ve been doing for the last five days. You take it as the tacit permission to move into friend-mode that it is.

“Things have been going so well - they were really coming together like a team. And now...Now it’s like someone flipped a switch. Or,” You narrow your eyes as a spot on the ceiling as you think back. “Maybe it’s dopplegangers? A personality-changing drug in the water supply system? Body snatchers, but like, anti-chill body snatchers?”

“What happened?”

You make a noise, blowing a gust of air out of your mouth. How do you even begin to describe the week?

“Wilson took Nat’s pop tarts on Monday.”

Maria winced. “Yikes. I’m surprised he’s alive.”

“So am I,” You admit. “By the time I got there, she had him in that thigh chokehold and he was pulling a Violet Beauregard. Shades of blue.” You add to clarify and Maria smiles as she gets the reference. “Medical checked him out - he’ll be bruised but fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like Nat when her pop-tarts have been threatened.”

“Right?”

“What else?”

“Rogers has kicked the hornet’s nest.” You close your eyes and replay the meeting with PR in your mind. Rogers smirking at you from across the table as Bob and his team screamed shrilily about running things through PR  _ first _ . “He’s been posting all these pictures on instagram and tik tok videos…”

“Wait,  _ Rogers _ ? As in Steve? As in social media shy, old man Rogers?”

“Why does no one believe me when I tell them Steve Rogers is a technology troll?” You ask the ceiling. “Yes. Usually he sticks to the tame, boring stuff like playing with perspective, or sunrises and shit. It’s a good outlet for him, artistically,” You’re forced to acknowledge. “But he’s pretty careful about selfies and all that.”

“So what did he do?”

“Well...on Monday he did a shirtless selfie. Tuesday he did a pushup challenge -”

“Also shirtless?”

“No,” You snort. “But he definitely stole one of Nat’s t-shirts. Then he couldn’t get it off, and no one else was around so I had to get a pair of scissors and cut him out of it.” You shake your head as Maria begins to laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“It is from where I’m sitting.”

“Some friend you are.”

“Pushup challenge. Seems harmless enough.”

“Then on Wednesday, he posted a video of the team playing fuck, marry, kill. Not so funny now, is it?” You ask as her eyes go wide. “Yeah. And then yesterday...yesterday he did the ‘kiss your best friend’ video. With Barnes.”

“Did Bob have an aneurysm?”

“Close.” You wish - not for the first time this week - for a glass of alcohol to magically appear in your hands. Preferably the Asgardian kind so you can wipe the last few days from your long-term memory. “And then Steve accused Bob of being homophobic.”

Maria’s jaw drops and you feel vindication. “But...But…Doesn’t Rogers know Bob is gay? Like, he’s met Greg. He  _ likes _ Greg. He’s been to their fucking house - that barbeque over the summer - and he complimented Greg on the landscaping when he found out he’d done it himself.”

“Body snatchers. It’s gotta be body snatchers.” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“How can we tell if the Avengers have been body-snatched?”


	49. Operation: Problem Child (P3)

It’s been the month from Hell.

You’re buried on a nearly daily basis under complaints and requests from other departments as - to a man - Earth’s Mightiest Heroes continue to act like the World’s Biggest Toddlers. You can hardly keep up, trying to smooth over relationships and act as a buffer between support staff and the Avengers.

They’re picking fights with each other over dumb things.

Doing pranks that are outsized, and overreacting to being pranked.

Filing paperwork in crayon, for fuck’s sake, and generally disrupting the well-oiled machinery that makes it possible for a team of superheroes to respond to any number of rapidly unfolding situations.

One of the flight deck crew spent fifteen minutes chewing  _ you _ out because Barnes ‘forgot to fill it up’ after taking an unauthorized joyride.

Karen from legal affairs had an actual  _ breakdown _ because Banner - after binge watching thirty-seven hours of Fox News, and _yes_ , you’re aware that he isn’t supposed to be doing that - walked around the rest of the day swearing under his breath while occasionally turning the shade of freshly steamed broccoli.

You are deeply sympathizing with Bilbo Baggins at this moment, sprawled across your bed watching The Fellowship with a bowl of popcorn the size of your head and a week’s worth of candy.

“ _..sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread. _ ”

“I fucking hear that, Bilbo.” You salute him with a handful of salted buttery goodness. “A-fucking-men.”

You’re also only a small step away from going totally feral as your door busts open and Wilson comes booking into your room in a panic.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shout as he grabs at your arm, dumping the bowl of popcorn across your bedspread. “No. No, no, no, no. I don’t care what the fuck is happening - this is  _ my _ time. Mine,” You hiss as behind you Baggins adds ‘my precious’.

“Barnes.” Wilson pants, eyes wide and chest heaving. “Barnes stole Lola. Parked. On the roof.”

You grab your phone, which starts ringing the second it’s in hand. You answer as you trade your fluffy slippers and sushi pajamas for tactical gear and combat boots.

“He’s a dead man.” Coulson says without preamble into your ear. “And not, 'oh-I’m-gonna-miraculously-ressurect-dead'. Real dead, y/n. You hear me?”

Wilson’s eyebrows go up as you wince.

“Phil. Buddy. Pal.”

“Shove it, y/l/n! He took Lola!”

“You don’t want to kill him, Coulson.” You have  _ never _ heard Coulson like this before, and it would not be an exaggeration to say that you’re starting to sweat a little.

Fucking  _ Barnes _ .

Fucking _Avengers._

You have been the recipient of some of the best tactical training in the world. You hold degrees in political science and international relations.

You should have listened to your mom and gone to law school instead, you think bitterly as you squeeze your eyes shut in the vain hope that when you open them, the last month will have been a nightmare or a hallucination.

“I don’t? Cause it feels like I do.” There’s a squealing of tires in the background. “I’m on my way there, and if there’s so much as a single scratch on my baby…”

“Barnes is Rogers’ best friend,” You try to reason while refraining from banging your head against the elevator wall as it heads for the roof. “And as much as I would love to help you kill him - be- _ lieve _ me, I would - I don’t think you really want to kill Steve’s best friend in the entire world.”

“He has to pay for this, y/n.” Coulson’s snarl sounds practically inhuman as you and Wilson book it for the elevator. “That car is  _ vintage _ .”

“What if I get Cap to sign all your trading cards?” You go for the low blow, the weak spot, the chink in Coulson’s armor. “And I promise you, I’ll get Barnes back in line.”

There’s a considering pause.

“Fine. But y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Consider yourself on probation.”

You can physically  _ feel  _ the blood drain from your face and you have to swallow hard past the miserable lump in your throat. “Yes, Director.”

“ _ Acting  _ Director. Christ I can’t wait til Fury’s back from vacation.” Coulson hangs up and you look to the ceiling. 

“Are you…” Wilson is staring at you. “Are you crying?”

“Nope.” You bite out the word around a sound that is  _ not _ a sniffle. “It’s just fucking dusty.”

“That statement is untrue. Our environmental services systems do not allow for the accumulation of dust.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice startles you both. “And I am detecting emotional stress in your subvocal patterns, y/n.”

“I’m fine.” You repeat it, willing it to be true as you shove your exhausted feelings into a box so you can focus on  _ fixing this _ . “I’m fine.”

Wilson looks at you like he doesn’t buy it as the doors open and you stride out onto the rooftop with your best i’mma-kick-your-ass attitude.

“Barnes! Keys!”

Maybe it’s the look on your face, or maybe Wilson - standing behind you - does something to signal to Barnes that this is not the time to fuck about because Barnes doesn’t even so much as whine. He just slides from the driver’s seat, tosses you the keys, and skulks to the elevator.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you notice the quarter-inch wide gouge in the cherry red paint.

“I’m in an alternate timeline.” You reason with yourself. “This whole month is just...a glitch in the matrix. It’s gotta be…”


	50. Operation: Problem Child (P4)

The Avengers,  _ sans _ Stark, are watching as you shake the suited man’s hand through the clear, glass conference room when Hill joins them. You’ve been in there for two hours, and your team has been casually circling the fishbowl of a room as you talked and laughed and considered whatever it was the suit-man had to say.

It shouldn’t be a big deal - you meet with suits for all kinds of reasons. Making inroads and connections, interviewing vendors and suppliers, fending off the government oversight committees.

But you’d stepped off the elevator in a well-cut pantsuit and  _ heels _ . Hair relatively tamed - instead of the messy braid or ponytail you put it in usually - and just the barest hint of makeup...So, deducing that  _ something was up _ , they’d been trying to wait it out.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’ve been playing,” Hill says in a voice that is scarily calm and completely at odds with the tension in her body. “But I hope you motherfuckers are happy.”

“What? We aren’t…” Banner shrinks under Hill’s flat look.

“What is that all about?” Steve asks.

Hill raises her eyebrows and looks at Stark, who is the only Avenger who hasn’t been low-key stalking your meeting, as he joins the group. “You want to tell ‘em who the suit is, or shall I?”

“I had nothing to do with it.” Stark says, a sneer creeping across his face as he looks at the suited man with contempt. “Frankly, I’m not happy to have him in the building, but Pepper didn’t give me a choice. She pulled rank.”

“Who’s the suit?” Barton asks as the man makes for the elevator and you collapse into one of the conference room chairs, a small, pleased smile on your face as you flip through the manila folder on the table.

Steve ignores the twinge of guilt that reminds him how little you’ve smiled the last five weeks of Operation: Problem Child. They may have miscalculated the tactics, he’ll admit, and okay, yeah, Barnes definitely took it too far...but they hadn’t meant to make you  _ miserable _ .

“Billy Russo.” Hill says, and Steve can tell that she’s impressed. And pissed.

Mostly pissed, and sweat starts to bead along his spine.

Nat blinks as the elevator doors close, hiding Billy Russo - whoever the hell he is - and his suddenly too-smug smirk. “Wait. As in…”

“The founder of Anvil? Decorated war hero?” Hill’s nod is sharp. “Yeah.”

“Oh shit.” Wilson whistles, low and long. “Well, he’s prettier in person.”

“He’s also astonishingly ambitious, incredibly competent, and richer than Croesus thanks to all those fat, padded Defense contracts. Which means...” Hill turns her eyes on all of them now, and Steve is reminded of his fourth grade teacher (it was never that Ms. Nielsen was angry, just  _ disappointed _ , and that was somehow worse).

He fights the urge to squirm, and suspects he’s not alone as Bucky stiffens next to him.

“Which means you all fucked up.” Hill finishes.

Bucky actually raises his hand, then scowls and pulls it back down as he asks. “Who the hell is Billy Russo?”

“Did you not hear anything that was said in the last thirty seconds?” Wilson asks.

“I heard it, but who is he, why’s he meeting with y/n, and why does that mean we fucked up?”

“He’s a rich, talented defense contractor who knows a good thing when he sees it.” Nat spells it out. “That,” She levels her eyebrows at the conference room and you. “Was a job interview.”

Stark's scowl deepens and Steve feels his pulse jump.

A job interview.

To borrow a phrase he's heard you use - fuck a duck.

Hill’s gaze is knowing as he looks at her and she nods, the calm facade melting under genuine anger. “Yeah. I don’t know why the hell you assholes had to ruin the best thing you had going for you, but I hope you’re happy, because I’ll tell you right now - whatever’s in that folder, she’d be a goddamn idiot not to take it.”

They all turn to see you stand, push away from the table - with that cursed folder tucked into the pile under your arm - and head for the elevators yourself, that tiny pleased smile still curving your lips, completely oblivious to the poleaxed expressions on your team’s faces.


	51. Operation: And The Anvil Drops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I am so so SO thankful for all y'alls comments this week - it really pulled me out a funk, forced me to write, and then Operation: Problem Child happened and I *couldn't stop myself*
> 
> Enjoy the concluding chapter for Operation - I feel like I should apologize?

It’s been suspiciously quiet all week, and while normally you would question it, you’re just going to shut up, and not look a gift universe in the mouth as you finish getting ready for dinner.

Russo’s taking you out for wining and dining and you know you need your armor in place because Billy Russo is a silver-tongued, quick-witted, and all-too-devilishly charming sonovabitch.

You slide a final coat of lipstick on - bold, aggressive - and give yourself a quick last minute glance. Perfect. Peggy Carter would approve.  And not just because of the three knives you have hidden in the demure, totally professionally appropriate cocktail dress you’d opted for tonight.

You grab your clutch and head for the door.

There’s no sign of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and you have to remind yourself - Gift. Universe. In. The. Mouth. - before you ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to check on them or detour to the lab. Nope. Not tonight.

Russo’s waiting in the lobby of the Tower, and damn if he doesn’t clean up just as nice as you’d suspected. The smile he gives you is *just* this side of professional, and you can’t help but feel just a little, tiny twinge of disappointment. 

It’s been a dry spell, and he’s the most attractive man you’ve been out to dinner with in a loooong time.

The restaurant is great - perfect ambiance, good food, and just enough noise to keep a conversation private. And the company...well, you think, settling back into your seat as the waitstaff clear the plates. The company is just freaking enjoyable.

He’s an adept conversationalist, and not so polished that you can’t be yourself. He clearly appreciates your straightforward manner, and at no point do you feel like he’s humoring you as you ask about what it was like founding Anvil, and about the work his company does employing and helping veterans.

He’s sharp and witty and you have the feeling that working for him would be a genuine good time. He doesn’t bad mouth anyone throughout the evening, and his manners are completely professional, though you can read enough of his body language to know that he’s keeping himself well in check on that front. You’d be a liar if you tried to pretend it didn’t please you, or you weren’t doing the same.

Dry. Spell.

“So,” Russo braces his forearms on the table and leans in. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“What ‘what’ is?” You ask, even though both of you know exactly what he’s talking about as he raises an eyebrow at you playfully.

“The thing that’s going to get you to accept the offer to come work for Anvil. Whatever you want,” And you can tell he means it as he leans back, supremely confident. “Well, if you want a stealth bomber, that might stretch credulity, but other than that…”

“It’s an incredibly generous package.” You smile. “But you already knew that.”

He smiles back - two predators appreciating each other - and then a little furrow appears between those well-groomed eyebrows. 

Oh no.

You know that furrow.

“Isn’t that-”

You’re already turning, and just in time to catch Steve ducking behind a partial wall. “Yup.”

Russo’s gaze is laughing as you turn back around. “They don’t really do subtle, do they? Your coworkers.”

“When exactly did you realize that?” Real laughter is threatening to spill out of your mouth.

“About two seconds after we left the tower, I clocked Barton and Romanov tailing us. And when Wilson strolled by the front window first, second, and third times.” And now you do laugh as he shrugs. “Only one I haven’t seen yet is Stark.”

“Pepper doesn’t let him out after nine.” You confess. “They mean well.”

“They care for you. But you still haven’t told me what it’ll take.”

You smile, all sharp edges now. “Why don’t we get dessert and talk about it?”

Wilson’s leg is bouncing and Bucky not-so-idly thinks about stabbing him with a pen just to stop the repetitive, irritating motion as they wait in the outdoor cafe just down the street from the restaurant where you’re having a dinner meeting with Billy Russo.

Bucky snorts. Dinner meeting. Yeah, right. He’d bet his left arm - his real one - that Russo had more than just dinner on his mind.

“How long does it take to eat some food?” He grumbled. “Steve, what’s going on in there?”

Steve swore through the coms. “I think I’m made.”

Nat’s chuckle fell flat. 

All of them were on edge.

A week.

A whole week.

You’d had three calls with Russo, and the smug bastard was giving you the full court press. He’d sent tickets for your favorite sports team - thank you, Tony’s latest PA, for letting that slip - and you’d been invited (alone) to tour Anvil’s incredibly well secured facilities.

Bucky had been walking by your room and had heard you gushing to Hill over the state of the art  _ everything _ and how professional everyone was, and had felt his guts twist.

And not once - not  _ once _ \- had you brought up your impending ship-jumping to the team.

“Maybe she’s not going to take it.” He thought aloud, and Wilson was the one who snorted now. 

“Yeah, right.”

“We should have bugged the restaurant.” Barton griped.

“You’re a cruel woman,” Russo accused, tone light as your post-dessert coffees cooled to drinkable temperatures and you slowly walked through the park down the street from the Tower. “Lucky for you, I admire that in a woman.”

“Why do I think you’re the kind of guy who finds something to admire in every woman?” You ask, feeling the laughter that’s been a consistent companion through the evening crinkle the edges of your eyes. “No offense.”

He chuckles. “None taken. Well. Not to put too fine a point on it, y/n...but I think I’d like that answer about now. And…” He doesn’t bother dropping his volume as he looks over his shoulder at the poorly-hidden Avengers trying to trail the pair of you. “I think they would too.”

You sip at your coffee noncommittally.

Russo smiles, big and predatory this time. “I really do like your style. Which is why I don’t mind telling you,” He adds, stepping close - closer than professional close. “I’m kind of glad you’re not taking the offer.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” He’s looking you in the eye, his own eyes dark with a familiar kind of hunger that has nothing to do with food. “You’re not. If you were,” He continues, leaning in even closer. “You would have told me earlier in the week. Which means…” His voice is just above a whisper now and you shiver despite yourself and the mild weather. “You’re not taking the offer. You’re just making  _ them _ sweat. And like I said,” His eyes flick down to your lips. “I admire that in a woman.” His eyes flick to the side and you know he’s clocking your team as he steps back and asks in a low-volume, “So how about when you’re done twisting the knife, you let me take you out on an actual date?”

Your own voice is pitched equally low. “If you shake my hand and look pleased with yourself, I think you’ll find my calendar free for coffee tomorrow.”

His hand is hot as it closes around yours. “You’re a dangerous woman, y/n.”

“You like that though.” You counter and the tension grows thick as neither one of you looks away. “Well.”

“Well.” He smiles again, and it’s a bit more boyish now as he lets go of your hand. “I’m gonna walk away looking like I just signed a helluva new contractor to my firm. I’ll see you at eight?”

“Sounds good.”


	52. The One With One Bed

You have seen some shit since you joined the Avengers.

You've seen aliens and monsters and gods and things you don't think there are even words in the english language for. You've seen heroism and cowardice in equal measure, and you've seen enough to know that the cowards aren't always wrong to run away.

You've witnessed Nat without pop-tarts, Game Night (gone wrong, because that's what Game Nights do), Bruce Banner after watching Fox News, and you've even seen Nicholas J. Fury in something other than black.

Nothing could prepare you for what you're seeing now.

Nothing.

Steve Rogers is the most aggressive little spoon you have ever seen in your life. 

If his cuddling could speak, it would say ‘Cuddle me, bitch’ while threatening someone with a knife.

It’s taking everything you have not to laugh as Barnes shoots you a fulminating glare, half-hidden behind that Dorito-shaped back, your feet fixed to the floor by the sight of Rogers’ beefy arm holding Barnes to his back like an unwilling, mutinous backpack.

The super soldiers had been out on a mission and needed to crash before you could get an exfil plan in place. So they’d sent you the coordinates where they’d gone to ground- a Mom-and-Pop roadside motel in the middle of BFE - and here you were, the next morning, to pick up the two super-size pains in the ass.

Barnes’ scowl turns deeper - accompanied by a red flush - as you whip out your phone and take a picture.

“I will kill you,” He hisses, resembling not so much the Winter Soldier as a pissed off feline.

You arch one eyebrow as he shifts, presumably to follow through on the threat and Rogers’ hand tightens on his own, keeping him on the single queen sized bed that is  _ definitely  _ not big enough for both of them.

Hence, you assume, the cuddling.

“There was only one bed.” Barnes explains as Rogers’ snores continue. “And if you send that picture to anyone…”

You let him see your finger hovering over the screen of your phone.

And then you press ‘send’.

You should be a smoking crater under the look he sends your way, but you just smile brightly at him and toss him a wink. “Now we’re even for Lola.”


	53. The One With Your Birthday (kinda)

You whimper into your pillow as the door busts open and Earth’s Mightiest Assholes once again ruin your day before it even begins.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Wilson screeches at an earsplitting volume that has you putting the pillow over your head, only to have it rudely yanked away by Barton as you blink, bleary-eyed and grumpy as hell.

Speaking of hell, you think as the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes break into an  _ extremely _ off key version of ‘happy birthday’...

“Shush, demons.” You moan and s omeone shows a mug of coffee into your hands as you sit up, dragging the sheet with you and the day is suddenly saved from smashing into rock bottom at terminal velocity.

“We made you a cake!”

You have to blink a couple of times as you take that first sip of coffee because if you don’t get a hold of yourself, you  _ will _ laugh at the way Rogers is practically bouncing with pride as he holds out the aforementioned baked good, coated in blue icing with a giant ‘AW’ in red icing scribbled childishly across the flat surface.

“How do you know today is my birthday?” You manage to ask. Words are hard before the coffee, but you make your lips move and the right sounds come out, so it’s going down in your books as a win.

“We didn’t. At first.” Wilson shrugs. “You have, like, five birthdays in your file.”

“And none of them are right.” Barnes adds. “But we’re spies and superheroes - we figured it out.”

“And we figured everyone deserves to be treated well on their birthday.” Rogers finishes.

Just looking at them -the whole team- is  _ exhausting _ . The excitement, the expectation…It’s like being stared at by a herd of golden retrievers who heard you say the word ‘park’ or ‘walkies’ or ‘treat’.

“Thanks guys. I’ll be out to the kitchen in a minute.” When no one moves, you roll your eyes. “Get out. I need to get dressed.”

It’s a hilarious moment as Barnes, Barton, Rogers, Wilson, and Banner all realize that aside from the sheet you’re stark - hah- naked.

Stark has no shame - or eyes for anyone other than Pepper - so he just wiggles his eyebrows at you in a caricature leer, while Nat lets out an honest-to-god guffaw as Rogers spins so fast he nearly sends the cake flying and Barton and Banner 'nope' the hell out of your room.

Barnes is still looking at you though, and Nat beats you to it, slapping him upside the back of the head.

“Out, idiot.”

Stark tosses you a shrug on his way out the door. “He had to go through puberty sometime.”

You flip him the bird as Nat pulls the door shut behind them, and bring the mug of coffee back where it belongs -front and center, thank you. As the fog begins to clear from your brain, you find your lips curving upwards.

How were you going to break it to them that today wasn’t your birthday either?


	54. The One Where They Summon A Demon

“This is a terrible idea.” Stark’s straight face lasted a whole half a second. “I’m in, obviously!”

Nat rolled her eyes. “I told you he would be. Also,” She adds, with a sweep of narrowed glare across the room. “ _ When _ this terrible idea bites us in the ass, I get to say ‘I told you so’.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waves an insolent hand at her. “I don’t see you leavin’, Red.”

“Oh, she’s Russian,” Barton says. “They’re a resigned people.”

Nat tells him where he can shove his resignation in a pithy quip. In Russian.

“So,” Rogers says as Bucky opens the book and starts leafing through it. “What does it say we need to do this?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is there a power outage?” You ask, stepping off the elevator onto a darkened floor. You’d made a quick pit stop to your rooms to drop your bags from your trip back home, but after a week and a half away, you needed to know what was going on with your troublemaking team.

“No, y/n. Mr Stark has asked me to ‘create the right ambiance’.” F.R.I.’s voice is at whisper levels and you find yourself frowning.

“Ambiance for…”

“A seance.”

You stop in your tracks.

Well, that’s certainly a new one.

“Where is this...event...happening, exactly?”

“In the living room.”

You’re not quite sure what’s funnier - F.R.I.D.A.Y. whispering, or the thought of the Avengers performing a seance. “And who, exactly, are they trying to contact?”

“They have tried contacting several deceased scientists, including Tesla and Edison,” You snort softly. That  _ has  _ to be Stark and Banner. “I believe now they are trying to contact Mr. Hendrix.”

“Barton.” You shake your head and scoff, an idea beginning to tease around the edges of your mind. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“Do you want to help me play a prank?”

There’s a slight pause, considering. Then, “I believe I would, y/n.”

It’s laughably easy.

You hide in the shadows of the hallway, watching as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes - backlit by a seemingly endless ocean of candles, no doubt courtesy of Stark industries - stand around a table with arcane symbols drawn in red sharpie on a table cloth and seriously maim what sounds like made-for-tv Latin.

“Mr. Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes in a moment after they finish, glancing around with an adolescent level of nervous excitement. “I believe...there is a disturbance on the balcony…”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to keep a giggle in, but you creep forward silently as the entire team rushes to the glass doors. Light and spry, you hop onto the table, fold your legs under you, and take a seat.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Stark asks. “What exactly did you sense?”

“There’s nothing there, Stark.” Nat turns, smug, and then stops mid step as she sees you sitting there, calmly chilling in the middle of the arcane circle as if you do it everyday.

Rogers plows into her, and the resulting tangle is enough to draw everyone’s attention back to the room.

“Holy shit.” Wilson elbows Barnes. “I  _ told  _ you she was evil.”

“Whattheshitwhattheshit.” Stark swears.

Banner is looking a little green around the gills so you send him a wink.

“Well,” You say cheerfully, and maybe a little too gleefully. “This is awkward.”


	55. The Hammer P.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I'm a soft, sentimental bastard today...I'm also tired af and this is unbeta-ed so apologies in advance!

“Ed Sheeran wouldn’t treat me like this…” You stomp into your room and sling your purse and jacket over the arm of the chair as another date night crashes and burns.

It’s not their fault -your dates'- you acknowledge as you trade the little black dress for your favorite pajamas.

After all, it takes a lot to raise your blood pressure these days.

It’s not your fault that you struggle relating sometimes to normal people who  _ don’t _ engage in childish antics and sexual innuendo and acts of heroism. Sometimes all at once.

Doesn’t mean you can’t be resentful of how early in the evening it is that you find yourself back at the Tower, looking at another night of binge watching the Great British Bake Off and shouting at the screen.

Maybe you can talk Nat into joining you.

Yeah, you decide, immensely cheered by the prospect of watching Romanov turn that hypercritical eye on slightly underdone cakes and sloppy piping. That’s what tonight needs.

Course of action decided, you open the door just in time for Rogers to pull back a nervous hand about to knock on the door.

“What?” You ask, tone sharp and temper rising to match as his eyes skid away from your face. “Rogers, what?”

“It’s Bucky.”

Of course it is.

“Go on.”

Rogers actually shifts his weight from side to side, rubs the back of his neck. “There was this reporter…”

And you need no more - put that statement with Rogers’ attitude, and there’s only one ‘It’s Bucky’ scenario you’re walking into.

“Where?”

“His room.”

Bucky Barnes has taken a lot of shit over the years.

Not just what he’s lived through and experienced, but in the years since his name was cleared and he joined the Earth’s Mightiest Assholes. There was a lot of distrust and speculation at first - and a lot of scared people saying stupid shit. Public opinion was a tide that took a long time to turn, and for a while every talking head out there wanted to dissect just how innocent James Buchannon Barnes really was.

Not so much these days, but every once in a while some idiot journalist puts a microphone or a camera in his face and starts asking about the Winter Soldier.

Nine times out of ten, he laughs it off.

But that one other time?

“What’d they ask him about?” You ask as the pair of you move swiftly down the halls.

“The Stark Assassination.” Rogers' face is thunderous just thinking about it.

Your head swivels so fast it almost takes you with it. “And he didn’t kill anyone?”

Rogers shakes his head. “No. I got him out. Came right back here. He’s been in there ever since.”

You pause for a moment outside Bucky’s door - decorated with snapshots of life, pictures tacked up with whatever strikes Barnes' fancy; smiling with Steve, training with Sam, baking with Nat, leaning on Lola…all the things asshole reporters don’t see when they look at Barnes - and push out one slow, long breath. “I want that reporter’s name by the time I come out of there, Captain.”

Rogers nods, and you know he’ll get it for you, and Rogers will feel better for having  _ done _ something.

You go in.

Barnes is just...sitting there. On the edge of his bed, forearms braced against his legs as he stares at the floor, eyes distant. The guilt and shame are practically pouring off him, and you wish like hell - and not for the first time - that sympathy worked because Barnes looks pathetically small, despite his hulking frame and the instinct to offer comfort over conflict is so strong right now it’s almost a physical ache.

“I see we’re feeling sorry for ourselves.” You say instead, folding your arms over your chest.

He shrugs without looking at you.

Okay. That’s not good.

Changing tack, you walk closer, notice him shift away as you crouch and reach for his chin to bring it up, and withdraw your hand.

“Barnes,” You say, voice softer than usual. “Look at me, Barnes.”

He doesn’t.

“Bucky.”

_ That _ gets his attention. You never call him that. Barnes, James Buchannon Barnes, ‘You Sonovabitch’ if you’re really pissed off. But never Bucky. So you give him a reassuring smile when those icy eyes snap to yours at the sound of his nickname.

“You really gonna let some punk reporter make you feel like shit over this?”

He shrugs. “I know it’s stupid, but he talked about Stark’s mom and I just...it all came rushing back.” The damn breaks, and the words are spilling out now. “And it was like I was  _ there _ again, screaming inside my own head while my hands…my hands...” He stares down at them as if they belong to someone else. “I killed them, y/n. I knew Howard, and I killed him, and his wife, and that will always be in the back of my head. I don’t deserve to be here-”

You shush him with a finger over his lip. “You’re not going to finish that sentence, idiot.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not a hero. I’m not one of the good guys. I shouldn’t be in this tow-”

“Shut up.” He huffs an unhappy laugh at you. “I’m serious, Bar- Bucky.Listen to me,” You say, tone hard but not cruel, not mean. “Listen up, because I’ll only say this once. You’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met, and goddammit if you don’t make my job ten thousand times harder than it needs to be. But Bucky - you  _ are _ worthy of being here.”

He doesn’t believe you. You can see it all over him.

Fine.

Time for the big guns.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes y/n?”

“Play video file ‘Rainy Day’ please.”

The video begins to play on the wall of Barnes’ bedroom. The night of the party, all those weeks ago, you on the couch as he drops next to you.

“Was I drunk?” He asks, brow furrowed as he tries to place it. “I don’t remember-”

His words trail off as he sees himself, James Buchannon Barnes,  _ Bucky _ Barnes, holding Thor’s hammer, like it’s nothing. It plays on loop; thirty life changing seconds. Over and over and over...

“Is this…” He swallows hard. “Is this a joke?”

“Only you or Wilson would try to joke about this. The rest of us have better taste.” The tart reply lifts the corner of his lips, and you know you've almost turned the corner. “Now listen up, Sarge. Listen good.” You wait til he’s looking at you again, full on, and you drop the shields your job requires you to hold between yourself and these incredible, amazing, astonishing people. You let him see the respect and the admiration and the appreciation you keep behind sarcasm, quips, pranks, and profanity. “You. Are. Worthy.”

He blinks, dumbstruck a little, and swallows twice.

You start to pack it all away again, donning the armor of the Avengers' Wrangler, who can't always be her own person in order to toe the line with these strong and volatile personalities. By the time you've resurrected your patented impatience and annoyance, he's steadying himself, almost back on solid ground.

He blinks again, and there's a frown on his face as he takes in your legs. "Are those...sushi rolls on your pajamas?"  


Aaand he's back.   



	56. Safeword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short snippet

“You’ve left me no choice.” You are at your wits’ freaking ends with Nat right now. Officially, you are thirty seconds from pulling out your hair as she smirks at you from the couch. “Alright, if you won’t tell me where they went, I'll just have to torture it out of you.”

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, product of the Red Room and Mother Russia just smirks at you and winks. “Kinky, y/n.”

“Last chance, Red.” 

She says nothing.

“Fine.” You blow out a breath. “I think you are funny and sweet and perceptive." You watch confusion and then a flush of pink move over her face as you continue "You deserve to have your feelings seen and recognized and validated…”

“What are you...stop…” You step closer and she tenses.

“You deserve to be cared for as much as you care for others.” 

“No. Wait! I need a safe word!”

“How’d you get Nat to tell?” Wilson grumbles as you finish signing the last of the paperwork to free him and Barnes from Coney Island’s police custody. 

“Trade secret.”


	57. The Villain Wrangler

“So let me get this straight,” Stark is staring you down in the kitchen as you pull another tray of gingerbread from the oven. “Not only is there an evil version of you, but you know each other and you…”

“Get coffee, and sometimes dinner. Like, once a month or so.” You hiss as the pan nearly clips you as you set it aside to cool. “It’s a professional thing, Stark.”

“How is fraternizing with the enemy professional?!”

The shout brings the others running.

You level a glare at Stark and he smirks, the smug bastard.

“Who’s fraternizing with the enemy? And why?” Wilson asks, reaching for one of the several trays of baked goods spread over the counter. “Ow!” He yelps as you smack away his hand, and gives you the most pitiful puppy eyes. “Why’re you baking so much if you aren’t going to share, y/n?”

“Tell ‘em.” Stark snarks. “Tell ‘em who you’re baking for.”

“You didn’t even know who they were when I told you,” You point out. “You had to ask me all these annoying ‘who is that’ and ‘what do they do’ and ‘how did you meet’ and ‘are you sleeping with them’ questions.”

“Who are they?” Wilson asks

“What do they do?” Rogers actually smiles at your glare.

“How did yoouuuu meeeet?” Barnes sings. “We already know you’re not sleeping with anyone. You're way too cranky these days.”

“You all remember we’re in a kitchen, right? The place where cast iron pans and knives live, right?” You smack Barnes’ hand away from the cookies now. “Look, it’s a joint project with a fellow professional in the field. We’re making a gingerbread scene of the Battle of New York for the children’s hospital.”

“Oh,” Rogers settles back. “That doesn’t sound bad, Tony.”

“Tell him who this 'fellow professional' works for.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, Stark. Like, did you really think villains didn’t need support staff either?”

“In a general, henchmen-y kind of way, sure,” Stark shrugs. “But how do you get coffee with someone who actively supports villains?”

“Stark,” Your tone is as malevolently sweet as the icing you’ll be making in a little bit. “It’s called back-channeling, and it's work. And,” You add when he goes to open his goateed mouth. “It helps keep the collateral damage down to more acceptable levels. Plus, how do you think I got such a good referral for our new dental provider? Or made sure no one attacked your and Pepper's vow renewal? Or Peter's graduation?”

“Wait wait wait,” Barnes stares at you. “Are you telling me we had worse dental than the bad guys?”

“Crime pays.” You shrug, and notice the light that comes into Rogers’ eyes. “No. Rogers, I mean it.” You threaten him with the knife you’re using the carve out pieces with. “The Villain Wrangler is off limits. You hear me?”

“But y/n, just think about it - they could give us information on every villain’s weakness.”

“I said no.”

“Someone’s gonna try to get to them sooner or later.” Stark points out.

“And it’s not going to be one of you. Is that clear?” You can read the mutiny in their faces, and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Look, why do you think the hospitals are off limits during the big fights? Who do you think negotiated that emergency services remain unmolested when shit hits the fan?” You see them blink. “Oh my god. You didn’t even think about it, did you?” You throw your hands up in the air. “This is why my job - and hers - exists!”

“So it’s a she…” Wilson stops talking as the edge of the knife lands perilously close to his fingers, embedding itself in the counter.

“Let me,” You enunciate each word, so there can be no misunderstanding. “Be completely clear. Wranglers are  _ off limits. _ ” You hold the feral snarl on your face another couple of seconds to be sure they get the message. “Say it.”

“Wranglers are off limits.”

The smile on your face is a lot nicer now, and you turn to put the next tray into the oven in your assembly line of gingerbread.

You turn back around in time to watch Barnes shove one of the gingerbread men into his mouth, eyes wide with glee as you stare at him.

“It wasn’t a wrangler.” He says around a mouthful of cookie.


	58. The Girls Night

“But seriously,” You ask as the laughter dies down and Darcy passes out another round of dubiously-mixed drinks. “How do you not drop a little Dr. Horrible in there?”

“What...what’s a Dr. Horrible?” Jane Foster, genius woman of interdimensional science and significant other to Thor, God of Biceps and Clairol, hiccups in adorable confusion as Darcy’s eyes go wide.

“Oh. My god.” She squeezes her eyes shut, then makes a face, then opens them again. “Why would you say that? I’m never going to be able to unmake that connection now!”

“What connection?” Jane demands.

“ ‘The hammer is my penis’.” You and Darcy deadpan at the same time and Pepper bursts into giggles and Maria spits her drink everywhere.


	59. The One With The Fake Girlfriend

“Quick question,” You mutter into your comms mic hidden in your dangling earring as you survey the room of shining, glittering rich people. “Why the hell isn’t Nat here for this? Why do I have to be the fake girlfriend? Also, how do these people not recognize Rogers?”

“Let’s just say our boy bears a strong resemblance to a famous celebrity,” Barton chortles along the comms. “And Nat took an elbow to the nose yesterday.”

“You hit me in the face with your elbow!” Nat protests, somewhere back at the compound where she’s been left behind.

“Her face  _ fell _ on my elbow.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it Barton?” 

“I swear to God himself, if one more woman tries to pinch my ass…” Steve’s complaint nearly has you spitting out the champagne you’d just taken a sip of. “I don’t know who this ‘Evans’ is but I feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

“Language,” Multiple voices say at the same time.


	60. (Wo)man Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So it turns out when my work-stress hits a certain level, I just write sappy soft sentimental(ish) shit. Enjoy. 😊

“Oh look,” Your voice goes over the comms, surprisingly calm as you watch the spilling stain of red blossoming against your tac suit. “I’ve been shot.”

“Not funny.” Nat complains from the midst of the chaos-filled battleground.

“Yeah, y/n.” Stark’s words are punctuated by blasts from the suit. “I know you have better pop culture references than that.”

“No,” You try again. “Seriously. I’ve been shot.”

One stray bullet is all it takes, and the Avengers goddamn Assemble. If you weren’t in shock, you might be able to be proud of how ruthlessly they work together to clear the field and circle back to your location, Barton and Wilson sprinting ahead of the others.

“You’re  _ shot _ .” The shock in Barnes’ voice should be hilarious as he watches Barton get nudged aside by Wilson, who has the slightest bit more experience with medical triage.

“I am not, contrary to popular belief, actually bulletproof.” The words are hissed between your teeth as you clench your fist and slam it into the floor next to you as Wilson goes about the business of saving your life. “Motherfuck, that  _ hurts.” _

“Yeah, well, it’s supposed to.” Wilson snipes back, though his smile is soft. “The human body does not  _ like _ being shot. At least it’s a through and through.” His eyes are worried though.

And they should be. “I think...I think I’m going to pass out now, guys. Yup,” You confirm as the world starts to rush away from you. “Definitely passing out.”

You come to in medical, where Helen Cho is smiling down at you.

“Welcome back.”

“Did I go somewhere? Was it nice?” You ask, groggy as hell. “And why did I come back  _ here _ ?”

“Give it a minute.” She says, checking the line in your arm. “It’ll come to you.”

Shot. You got shot. Your hands reach for the wound, finding bandage dressings laid over sutures. “I got shot. How long was I out?” You narrow your eyes at the bag handing on the IV tree beside your hospital bed. “What kind of drugs am I on? Everything’s...soft.” Realization hits and you clench at Helen’s arm. “You  _ cannot _ let them see me like this.”

It will literally undo everything you’ve worked on the last few years.

You can’t compete with super geniuses, super soldiers, super spies...not in the field, and not objectively on a skills comparison. But where you  _ can _ crush them? 

Sheer. Fucking. Will.

It’s the bedrock of what you do - all those brash, volatile personalities carrying the responsibility they do...when they aren’t actively in the field, they need to know they’re safe, that someone else will take the weight. 

And that’s what you do - albeit disguised under bitching and grumping and grounding. That’s really what the Wrangler is - an anchor point for people who have to act as guiding lights for so many others. A safe personality they can throw themselves up against knowing no _real_ harm will come from it.

If they see you like this - soft, vulnerable - it will set them back  _ weeks _ , just like it did after the Ex-Husband Incident, and that wasn’t anything approaching actual mortal peril.

“Promise me.” Your hand tightens on Helen’s arm. “Promise me right now.”

“I promise.” Helen says, and reassurance gained, you let the drugs pull you back under.

It takes a couple of days to start weaning you off the major painkillers, and even then, Helen’s not so happy about it, but you promise not to push it and to keep it in recovery mode. And that’s when the visits start.

Banner’s first, with an offering of books and scuffing feet. He doesn’t stay long - just brought some books to help pass the time in recovery and he thought you might like these ones - before he’s adjusting his glasses and muttering something about keeping Stark from destroying the lab as he shuffles back out the door.

You doze a little, and when you wake up, Nat is perched on the edge of your bed, playing Fruit Ninja on a tablet.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” She nudges your foot, smile a tenth of it’s usual sharp brilliance. “Dreaming about anything good?”

“Just a vacation and a chocolate fountain.” You joke back. “How’s the team?”

She shrugs. “Minor injuries. Nothing to write home about. How are you?”

“Anxious as hell,” You confess, then wave away the concern that flashes across her face. “You all, left unsupervised for a couple of days. Gonna take forever to get things straightened out.”

“You always manage it somehow.” She says, voice soft and you yawn, eyes going heavy again. “Go back to sleep, y/n. The team will be here.”

Wilson’s flipping through a magazine when you wake up and the smile he sends you is surprisingly chill.

“What did you do?” You ask, mouth dry, and he passes you a cup with a straw.

“Nothing.” 

You scoff and the smile gets a little bit of it’s sass back. “Riiiight. Where’s your worse half?”

“You just missed him.” Wilson’s expression turns serious. “He’s taking it a little hard. You being laid up. I sent him out for cannolis to give him something to do.”

“Veniero’s?” You ask hopefully and he chuckles.

“Where else?” An absent brush of his hand moves your escaped hair out of your face. “I even promise not to let him eat all of them.”

Your eyelids are like cement blocks, and you try to fight it. “Huh. If I’dda known all it would take was getting shot…”

“Smartass...” Is the last thing you hear before sleep mugs you again.

“If you’re going to brood,” You tell Rogers a couple hours later. “Could you at least do it a little more quietly?”

Stark laughs. “I just told Capsicle the same thing.”

“Takes one to know one,” Rogers fires back.

“He’s got you there,” You admit, fidgeting with the pillow behind your head until Stark intervenes. He even fluffs it up. “Thanks.” You narrow your eyes at them. “So. Whose head do I need to pull out of their ass first?”

“Excuse me?” Stark asks.

“You heard me. You know what?” You decide, sitting up just a little more. “I can do a two-for-one special. Me, being here?” You glance between the pair of them. “Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. Except the bad guy who shot me. I’m an adult, I know what I signed up for, risks entailed, yadda yadda yadda…”

“Can you use ‘yadda yadda yadda’ in a talk like this?” Stark wonders.

“I just did. Anyway. The point is - I will get out of this bed and kick your asses if I get even a whiff of self-deprecating guilt from either of you.” You mean it too. “And then I’ll sic Helen on you for making me get out of bed too early.”

“Pulling out the big guns?” Rogers teases and you arch an eyebrow at him.

“You do know she can kill you, like, at least nine different ways and make it look like an accident, right? And no one would ever know...”

“Hey kid.” Barton leans against the doorway casually. “How ya holding up?”

You snort, then wince as you struggle to move to a more upright position. “I’m holding. Not sure about the up part.”

“I saw you’ve had a parade of visitors.” Those eyes are watching your face closely. “Figured I’d give you some space before I checked in on you.”

You wave a hand as he walks into the room and comes to stand next to your bed. “I’ll be up and running again in no time.”

The look he gives you says ‘bullshit’ without a sound as his hand rests on your leg and he confesses. “You really gave me a scare there, kiddo.”

“I know.” Because you do.

“I brought you into this mess.” He clears his throat a couple times and blinks rapidly. “And I just...I realized that I’ve never told you how proud I am of the person you’ve become, y/n.”

The warmth blossoming in your chest isn’t because of the mild painkillers, and you can feel the heat in your face as well.

“When I first met you,” Clint continues, “You were this scrappy mess of potential. You could have gone anywhere and done anything after the academy - and you chose to help people help people. It’s like…” He pauses, searching. “It’s like you’re Watson.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“There’s this whole team here - these heroes. And everyone knows who they are, and what they stand for and why. They’re a bunch of Sherlocks.”

You snort at that. “Nat finally gave you the login for her BBC streaming, didn’t she?”

“I’m serious, y/n.” He meets your eyes now, and you see he means what he’s saying. “Sherlock might be brilliant and sensational and all these astonishing kinds of things, but without John Watson to back him up, to keep him anchored, he’s just a really smart drug addict with self destructive tendencies.”

“Huh.” That is...actually kind of accurate.

“And well, I just wanted you to know that  _ I _ see you. And I’m proud of you.” You’re both blinking rapidly now as he taps a fist against the edge of the bed. “That’s...that’s all I really wanted to say.”

And then Clint Barton turns and walks out the door, leaving you staring after him.


	61. The Villain Wrangler P2.

“I’m running late.” 

You huff out a laugh. “I was just about to call you and tell you the same thing.”

The Villain Wrangler laughs too. “I don’t know whether to be annoyed or proud that they’re getting harder to shake.”

“Same.”

“Whoever gets there first orders extra cannoli, yeah?”

“Absolutely.” You promise as you make a sharp right that has the cab behind you honking as you cut them off.

“Are you on your bike?”

You shrug, then realize she can’t see you. “Yeah. Parking’s always a bitch this time of day and it’s easier to lose the SUV they all crammed into this time. Plus,” You add, knowing she’ll get a kick out of what you say next. “I like the feel of a purring engine between my legs.”

She hoots. “I’m gonna remember that one, y/n.”

“See you soon?”

“Yep.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re tucked away in the back of the family-run Italian restaurant in a private booth with a killer cannoli and glass of well-earned wine.

“Sorry I’m later than usual.” She says and slides into the seat across from you, sighing with bliss as you push the second wine glass into her hands. “Bless you.”

“Rough week?”

She takes a sip and nods. “I swear to god, I do not get paid enough for this.”

“I’ll cheers to that.” You clink glasses as the waiter approaches.

You both order - house specials - and settle into the semi-comfortable routine of updating each other on the relevant details that have become the backbone of these little meetings.

“So if you can push off the full frontal assault til Tuesday…”

You nod. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

She beams at you. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to get Doom to visit his mother for  _ weeks _ so I really owe you for that one.”

“Well,” You say, swirling your glass. “You could make sure that no one plans to crash the annual Stark Charity Gala this year. I'll even toss in a ticket and a plus one for you.”

“Done.”

You both settle back as the food arrives, and for a few blissful moments there’s only the sounds of your rapid carb consumption.

“Oh hey,” You remember as you pop the last primavera veggie in your mouth. “I almost forgot - Janice at the Children’s Hospital was wondering if you could get Loki to stop by sometime this week. They’ve got a kid in who’s nonbinary who really looks up to him.”

“I love the mischief makers.” She sighs, finishing off her own plate and leaning back with contentment. “Loki’ll bitch and moan, but I’ll get him there.”

“Also,” You add. “Could you convince him to tell Thor he’s not  _ actually _ dead?”

She winces. “Yeah. No. That, y/n, is beyond my mere mortal abilities.”

"I had to ask."


	62. The One With The Fake Couple P1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I'm...sorry? It wrote itself over post-dinner munchies

“Jesus Christ,” You hiss. “You were not joking when you said you didn’t know how to dance, were you? Barnes, fix this.” You grit into the comms as Rogers blushes a furious shade of red. “You let your friend go on like this for this long? Cruel.”

“It’s slow dancing,” Barnes defends himself in your ear as the music continues. “How hard is it to just...sway in place?”

“This is bullshit.” Rogers says, lines of pink lips setting mulishly. “It’s recon for Christ’s sake; why are we on the dance floor?”

“Because it has the best visibility and we don’t have to do that weird my-lips-aren’t-moving-but-we’re-still-talking-into-the-comms-thing,” You reply brightly, casting a smile up at him. “Now fix your face before someone wonders why you’re glaring at me, your adoring significant other.”

Barnes snort comes through loud and clear. “Is that what we’re calling that excuse for acting? Adoring?”

You know Wilson just elbowed him from the pleasantly loud ‘oomph’ sound. “You look good guys.”

“Sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard?” You quip.

“You need more PDA,” Nat chimes in from the bar where she’s perched. “You two stick out like a pair of sore thumbs.”

“Do they?” Barton wonders from somewhere in the perimeter of the grounds of the event space. “Sore thumbs, I mean. Do people actually look at them and go ‘woah, that baby is  _ sore _ ?”

There’s a moment of just...absolute silence down the line as everyone drinks that gem in.

“Anyway... “ Nat skips past it after a beat. “Rogers, hold her like you actually like her.”

Rogers’ hands move exactly two centimeters and you can  _ hear _ the eye rolls.

“Put your hand on her shoulder blade, you big mook.” Barnes instructs.

You can’t help but grin in the face of Rogers’ obvious discomfort. “Pretend I’m someone you like, Rogers.”

“This is just too weird.” He mutters, though his hand finally slides to your shoulder blade, pulling you closer, and you feel him start as you place one hand on his chest and gaze upwards, letting a little soft, dreamy smile move across your face.

“Y/n’s got it.” Nat said approvingly. “Thinking about Thor’s biceps again?”

You shrug and lean in just a little more. “Whatever works, right? Rogers, move your other hand.”

“Where?” He asks, practically gritting his teeth.

You take mercy on him and move his other hand down towards your hip as he swallows audibly. “Okay, I know you suck at undercover work. Let’s try something.” If you can’t get Rogers out of his head, this will be a miserable night of waiting for the smuggling ring you’re all here for to show their faces and if they make you before you make them, it’ll be another three or four months of trying to track them down.

“Oh boy…” Nat sighs. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Barnes?” You ask.

“Yes, y/n?” The suspicion in his voice is strong and you can picture him crouched in the van next to Wilson, glaring at you on the cameras with distrust.

“Kill Cap’s and my comms. Two minutes.”

“Whhyyy?” He asks, stretching the word out.

“Do it, Barnes. Or I’ll tell Wilson-”

“Got it. One hundred twenty second blackout coming up.” Barnes says over Wilson’s indignant, “Tell Wilson what?”

There’s a little laughter skating around the edges of discomfort in Rogers’ eyes as you reach your arms up and drape them casually around his neck. Good.

“We’re going to play pretend.” You tell him, still keeping that soft smile on your face. 

“I will not pretend to be Thor for you.”

You laugh a little. “Not that kind of pretend. Just...Roll with me?” You ask, and when he nods, you close the distance between you, pressing your head to his shoulder. There’s a second, then two, and then he - stiffly - drops his cheek to yours.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut your eyes.” You hear him huff. “Just fucking do it, Rogers.”

He huffs again, but you can feel his eyelashes tickle your cheek as he does so.

“Okay, don’t answer me, just do as I say. Picture the most confident, non-douche-y ladies man you know. The kinda guy who always says and does the right thing. Confident. Charming. Relaxed. Whatever that looks like for you. Okay?” You can already feel his body language changing, shifting, pressed as close as you are.

“You said don’t answer you.”

“Can you picture him or not?”

He nods. 

“Okay. For the rest of the time we’re out here on this dance floor, that’s who you are. And I’m not y/n, I’m Aida,” You use your cover name. “And I’m your adoring partner, who you’ve already charmed, and you’re just here for a good night at a fancy event.” You feel him blow out one slow breath, then nod. A couple more seconds left… “Who are you?”

His head pulls away from yours and you lift it to hold eye contact as he smiles down at you, and it’s like a different person. “James. I’m James.”

Four seconds left.

“Just like that.” You murmur soft enough he has to lean in to catch the words of praise, and you know how it must look, all intimate and cosy, but he’s finally out of his oversize head, gaze dropping to your lips.

Three seconds.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking,  _ James _ , just keep thinking that.” Victory is a sweet song in your bloodstream as his hands soften on your frame, his swaying settles into the rhythm of the song playing.

Two seconds.

“Stay right here, right now. With me. On the dance floor. No one’s here but us.”

One second.

“I’ll be damned…” Nat whistles as the comms come back on. “Whatever the hell you said...y/n, you should give lessons. I'm telling Fury to put you on rotation.”

You let your head sink back to Rogers’ chest with another dreamy smile. “I can shank you in your sleep Nat. You won’t even see it coming.”

“What did you tell him?” Wilson demands from the surveillance van. “And I think you broke Bucky...Close your mouth, Barnes.”

Rogers just smiles down at you and you swallow because...woah, that is a helluva smolder. “Just you and me, right?”

“Yep,” You promise him.

“Okay. I’m a master assassin and this little scene is making my stomach turn.” Barton makes a noise of disgust. “Also, heads up, our guys just walked in the door.”

Rogers goes to move, every soldier’s instinct snapping to attention as you move slightly faster, fisting your hand in his tie and leaning up, up to whisper against his ear. “Down, boy.”

There’s a half second where you can feel the struggle in his body, and then he relaxes. Not as much as he was a couple seconds ago, but enough to fool the casual observer.

“They’re on the move…” Nat clocks them. “Heading upstairs. Showtime.”

You’re still holding Rogers’ tie. You relax back, unwinding it, making a show of putting it in its proper place while glancing up through your lashes. “You wanna get out of here and go have a good time upstairs?”

“Jesus.” Barnes coughs.

“C’mon,” Barton whines.

Rogers grins and this smile is all him as he lets you lead him from the dance floor with a hand. “Thought you’d never ask.”


	63. The Aftermath

Tony’s shout brings everyone running to the lab, where they find him pulling at his hair. “Why? Why would you tell me that?”

You scuff your boots against each other with a casual shrug and lean back against the table. “I told her I would pass on the compliment. I never - okay, I  _ rarely _ \- go back on my word.”

“What did you tell him?” Banner asks from the edge of the room as Stark starts to pace, the frantic steps of someone who is fighting his own instincts.

“I’ll tell you,” Stark snaps as the rest of the team settles in for the show. “I’ll tell you what she told me. The Villain Wrangler was  _ here. Here!  _ In the Tower!”

You cross your arms over your chest.

“What? When?” Rogers demands, star spangled blue eyes bouncing between you and Stark like an Atari. “Why?”

“The Charity Gala. The Annual Stark Charity Gala.” Stark snarls, continuing to move through the lab. “She was here, right under our noses and I didn’t know it until little miss-” He corrects himself at your glare. “Until Agent Competent over here told me the Villain Wrangler liked the catering!” Now he levels a glare at you. “And you  _ know _ I can’t let it stop there. Now I’m going to have to go through hours of footage to find out who this mystery person is that somehow made it in to one of the most secure events in the city without my knowing about it!” His chest is heaving as he finishes.

Barnes steals some of Barton’s popcorn.

“One,” You say, uncrossing your arms and counting on your fingers. “Let’s not pretend that you personally are going to review that footage. Right, F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Correct, Agent y/l/n.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms.

“Two, I’ve already asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to secure the footage with my own override code. Unless an actual security issue arises, no one will be reviewing that footage.”

Stark is sputtering now. “Et tu Brutus?” He asks the A.I.

You roll your eyes, catch Nat doing the same. “I said I would tell you. I have now told you. My obligation is complete.”

“Just one clue.” Stark wheedles. “One, tiny, little clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. Hey, Pepper.” You add as Pepper joins the party, looking around in confusion at the small crowd. “What’s up?”

“I just need Tony and Bruce to review something for me.” She waves the file in her hand. “What’s going on in here?”

“Pepper!” Stark’s exclamation is both whiny and hopeful at the same time. It’s impressive really. “Pepper, make y/n tell us who the Villain Wrangler is!”

Pepper turns to look at you, sighing as she folds her arms over her chest. “I told you not to tell him.”

The noises sputtering out of Stark’s mouth are hilarious.

“Wait,  _ you _ know too?” Rogers demands.

“Of course she does.” Barton scoffs.

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Guys, I’m Pepper Potts. Of course I know. Not that it was terribly hard to figure out.” She adds lowly.

“Waitaminute.” Barnes straightens. “You  _ know _ the Villain Wrangler. Like, personally.”

“Well, yeah.” Pepper opens the file and points to the specs she needs Banner and Stark to review. “Great sense of humor. Speaking of,” She turns her attention back to you now. “When’s the next Girls’ Night?”


	64. Ladies Man Lightbulb

Nat is giggling in the chair across from you as you wait patiently for her to get a grip.

“That’s…” She wipes tears from the corner of her eyes. “Y/n, there aren’t  _ words.” _

“Someone else on the team has to know, and you’re the one Rogers might actually listen to next time. But if you can’t handle it…”

“Oh no,” Her red locks go bouncing with the toss of her head. “No, I can do my job. It’s just...Oh man, that’s  _ hilarious _ .”

“What? That Rogers has to be coached into an alternate persona?”

“Noooo.” She stretches out the sound and settles back into the chair, signaling that the laughing is done for now, though you catch glimpses of it in her eyes. “That the persona’s name is James.”

“James Bond.” You smirk a little as you say it but Nat’s already shaking her head again.

“Steve likes those movies, but he  _ hates _ James Bond.” She’s laughing  _ at you _ now. “Try again. What other ladies-man James’ do we know that Steve Rogers admires?”

You blink at her, feeling stupid. Then it hits. “ _ Barnes? _ ”

Nat loses it again. While you wait for her to collect herself, you think back over all the versions of Barnes you’ve seen over these last few years. The former Winter Soldier is as much a master assassin and spy as Romanov, so when he’s on the job, yeah, he can pull out pretty much any personality and put it on like a cheap suit. And okay, you’ve seen him charm the news crews and television hosts, but that’s all work too.

Have you ever seen James Buchannon Barnes actually act like the so-called ladies man the history books paint him as?

Your brain conjures up Barnes from Movie Night the night before: sprawled in a messy tangle of limbs and hair, half-off the couch, mouth open, head tipped back, snoring like a hibernating bear while Wilson draws on his non-metal hand in sharpie (because, well, it’s  _ Wilson). _

_ “ _ I don’t see it.” You say, and it nearly sets Nat off again.

"Compared to Rogers..."


	65. Emergency Girls' Night

“-it like?” You catch as you enter the living room with half a dozen pizza boxes stacked in your arms and Jane’s question in the air. “I mean, working with villains?”

“Not really different from working with heroes, I’d imagine.” Your special friend has a beer bottle dangling between her fingers as she leans back, the center of wide-eyed attention from the other women in the room.

Jane and Thor broke up and you’d been halfway through your meeting with the other wrangler when the emergency alert for an unscheduled Girls’ Night came through.

So here you all were, half-a-bar in to the night and the talk had turned from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and how much men sucked to interrogating the other side.

“Oh,” Wanda spots you first. “Pizza!”

And conversation dissolves for a good twenty minutes as various pies are attacked and devoured. 

Rogers and Barnes would shit themselves if they could see how fast these not-superhuman women can put down a pie, you think, as Jane demands more stories of men-doing-wrong.

There’s much good natured groaning, some boos, and even the throwing of popcorn as Pepper recounts the  _ list _ of things Tony Stark has tried to fuck up in their relationship, and Wanda wonders if Vis is ever going to pick up the subtle social norms of not walking through walls, and everyone’s jaws drop - just a little- as you recount cleaning up after Wilson’s trail of shattered hearts.

Good times, for an emergency Girls’ Night due to an Asgardian Asshole.

“And then,” Nat grumbles. “He sneers, ‘Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them’.”

Darcy and your counterpart fan themselves vigorously while Maria just shakes her head from the bar cart where she’s mixing a batch of something she calls ‘The Hill Special’.

“I take it back,” Your counterpart says. “Yours are so much worse than mine. At least with mine you  _ know _ they meant it as an innuendo, insult, or insulting innuendo.”

“Jesus.” Darcy drains the rest of her drink.

“In all fairness,” You offer, and block the incoming pillow missile from Jane. “Rogers is one of the most socially inept human beings I’ve ever met. Especially when he’s pissed off.”

“Still…” Pepper isn’t convinced.

“Rude.” Jane decides, fishing the olive out of the martini in her hand and popping it into her mouth. “It’s still rude either way.” She scowls at the drink. “Men suck.”

Darcy’s hand pats Jane’s thigh. “We know, sweetie.”

There are nods all around at that.

“I wish you could just block someone in real life,” Jane drops her head back against the couch. “That’s a thing, right?”

“Restraining order.” You offers.

“Murder.” The Villain Wrangler says at the exact same time.

You two exchange a look as the rest of your friends burst into laughter.


	66. The Villain Wrangler P3.

You’re in the armory muttering to yourself when the team confronts you.

“Whatever you’re gearing up for,” Nat says. “We want in.”

You give her a tight lipped shake of your head, then resume rifling through the assorted collection of knives with single-minded focus. “No.”

“Look,” Stark tries. “Whoever he is - they are - probably deserves it, but really y/n, you should let us help. Technically, you’re not a field authorized combatant…”

“Barnes, where did you put the flashbangs?” You ask impatiently, and miss the look the team exchanges. “I could’ve sworn I saw them over…Aha! There you are!” You look up as you continue to arm yourself to the teeth, see the way they’ve ranged themselves between you and the door.

“We’re not going to let you fight this battle on your own.” Barton says from next to the door.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t bring you guys with me. You can’t be involved in this.”

“Y/n,” Rogers folds those arms over his chest and levels the Eyebrows of Responsibility at you. “We aren’t going to let you head into a fight alone.”

“One,” You say, barely slowing in your stashing of weapons on your person. “You couldn’t stop me even if you wanted to. I know all your weaknesses, strategies, and fighting tactics. Two,” You double check the knives in your belt, then your thigh holster, then your boots. “When I say ‘you can’t be involved in this’, I mean it. I’m not about to go rogue,” You continue, cutting off Wilson from opening his trap. “Well, not technically. But you definitely can’t go where I need to go and do what I need to do.”

There. You think. Knives and knick-knacks - done. Next up - guns.

“You do know we’ll just slow you down until you tell us what’s going on.” Nat points out.

“Do you really need this much weaponry?” Barnes asks. “No, no, not my desert eagles…”

“Look.” Your words are clipped as you catch a glimpse of the time on your watch. “You need to have plausible deniability. You wanna help me? Stay in. Have a movie night. I’ll be back in time for breakfast. I mean it,” You add as you stride for the door. “I need you to do this for me, guys.”

Barton blocks you, looks you over carefully. “You’ll wear the upgraded jacket? With the uber-kevlar weave? And you’ll call for backup if you need it?”

“Yes, Dad.” You sigh. “And I promise to not let my date get too handsy.”

And then you leave Earth’s Mightiest Heroes standing there staring after you as you get on the elevator because you are On. The. Clock.

“Took you long enough.” The Villain Wrangler chuckles as you use one of Stark’s neat little portable lasers to slice through the metal restraints. “You stop for takeout or something?”

“Shut up. You’re clearly concussed.” You help her to her feet, and then the two of you are stumbling from the warehouse to your car. “Tell me where I need to take you.”

“Loki’s. Gotta place in the village. Be safe there.” She waves off your concern as you help her slide into the passenger seat. “I’ll be fine. But what about...what’s ‘is face? The hero?”

You sneer. “He won’t be bothering you again, you can be sure of that.”

Another chuckle, pained this time, so you nudge her feet into the car and shut the door before making your way to the driver’s side and punching in the address she gives you.

You wait until Loki assures you that she’ll be alright, putting her into a sleeping, healing stasis of some kind in the guest room of the perfectly respectable apartment.

“Might I inquire as to the name of the...hero...who left our friend in this state?” The trickster god inquires with about as much subtlety as a kazoo in an orchestra pit. 

You just give him the same smile you’ve watched Maria Hill give someone who’s asking for something above their clearance level. “I’ve taken care of it. That so-called hero won’t bother anyone again.”

He stalks closer to you, predatory and lean. You fight the urge to eye roll. “How certain are you of that?”

“Certain enough. Just like I know that  _ she _ would take care of any villain who laid a hand on me.” You hold his gaze, unafraid. “She said she’d be safe here while she recovers.”

And just like that, Loki slips back into charming. “Indeed she shall. Well, then, can I offer you sustenance?” His gaze travels to your hair. “Or a shower? You seem to have a bit of...viscera…”

“Shower would be great.” You wince, thinking about how well that would have gone - walking into the Avengers’ Tower with blood and guts still all on you. You must be still caught up in the after-buzz of the fight.

“Down the hall to the left.” Loki gestures. “I’ll put on some coffee.”

“Thanks.”

The water is hot, the coffee is dark and strong, and Loki even has a pair of leggings (your counterparts’ stash), and a clean t-shirt that says ‘Mischief Managed’ on it in bright, emerald green.

“You’ll call me when she wakes up?” You ask, holding the travel mug in hand as Loki walks you back down to the street where your car is parked.

“I will.” He promises, opening the front door and letting you pass through it first. “And, y/n?”

“Yea-” You freeze on the front step and Loki nearly runs into you.

In the early pre-dawn light, the Avengers have assembled, waiting for you.

“We tracked the car,” Stark says by way of greeting. “By the time we figured out where you were in Jersey - jesus, y/n,  _ Jersey? _ \- you were already on your way...here.”

“So this is where you were sneaking off to?” Nat looks entirely too amused as Loki’s hands cup your shoulders. 

“Thor’s gonna have words for both of you.” Is all Rogers says, and next to him, Barnes is eyeing the t-shirt, sizing it against your frame and frowning.

You feel Loki flinch at that, but the little shit opens his mouth anyway, and steps half-around you, as if in a domestically intimate embrace. “Well, darling, it looks like the cat’s out of the bag. We knew we couldn’t keep it a secret forever. Ours is a forbidden-”

The glare you give him has him freezing, except to remove his hands from your shoulders, keeping them raised and open, as he backs away into the building and shuts the door.

“Call me when she wakes up.” You tell him, knowing that drama-loving asshole isn’t going to go one step beyond the door with such rich possibilities for chaos sitting on his literal doorstep. “And for fuck’s sake, call your brother already, or I’ll tell Darcy where you live. You know she’ll tweet that shit far and wide, Loki.”


	67. Oh My God, They Were Roomates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself sad - it's fine

“When was anyone going to tell me that Rogers and Barnes sleep together?” Bob demands.

You sigh and squeeze your eyes shut as he drops into your chair. “It’s not...it’s not what you think, Bob.”

“I don’t care what it  _ is, _ ” He scoffs. “I care about one thing and one thing only - optics.”

“It’s their personal business.”

“Until it leaks-”

“It’s not going to leak, Bob.”

He scoffs again. “Uh huh. Right.”

“It’s more personal than the other stuff, Bob.” Your voice carries a world of warnings, which Bob ignores in his trademark fashion.

“No one cares who they’re screwing.” He waves it aside. “I mean the fact that they literally sleep in each other’s rooms every night.”

“Leave it.”

“No. It will leak, and when it does-”

“It’s because of the nightmares.” That  _ does _ shut him up. “They’re the only ones who can hold each other down when the nightmares get going.”

Bob absorbs this.

You can still remember the first time you’d gotten a notification from F.R.I.D.A.Y. about a disturbance on their floor - heart racing as you ran for Rogers’ room to find Bucky pinning him to the bed, arm whirring as Steve - still asleep - thrashed beneath him.

Two super soldiers, both experimented on, out of time and definitely traumatized.

You’d stayed with Barnes until Steve settled, and then you’d made him a cup of tea and let him talk, telling you about Rogers’ nightmares - where the water is rushing up to meet him, of exploding artillery, of Bucky’s hand slipping away from his as he falls into the mouth of a monster. It was the first time Barnes let the mask of Ex-Assassin, Professional Hot Mess and Walking Disaster slip around you. For a few minutes, he was just a man...

“It won’t leak.” You promise him. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. and I have put measures in place.”


	68. How Many Ways Can You Say It?

You slump over the counter with a groan. “How many ways can I say it?”

Nat’s smile is somewhere between sympathetic and amused as she pushes a hot, fresh mug of coffee in your direction. “Going that well, huh?”

“Thor is now referring to me as ‘sister in law’,” You hiss as the too-hot coffee destroys the inside of your mouth. Worth. It. “And Stark wants to know when I’m inviting him over for dinner with ‘the family’, which is apparently all of you.”

“Have you tried saying it slowly?” The Black Widow hops up on the counter opposite you. “Maybe spelling it out in big block letters?”

“Maybe I should take out an ad in the paper? Or get a plane to do some skywriting?” You sigh. “Why don’t they believe me, Nat?”

“Possibly because they saw you with the frost-giant, trickster god, walking out of his apartment with a clearly borrowed t-shirt and travel mug as if you did it every day?” She asks, and oh, that smile is more amused than sympathetic now. “Or saw him wrap his hands around your shoulders in a clearly masculine display of territorial possessiveness?”

“Did they not see the epic, cutting glare that immediately followed?” You hate how close to a whine your voice is, but it’s been a long two weeks of this bullshit and you’re just about ready to snap.

“One,” Nat points out. “You glare at us like that all the time. So you glaring is not a disqualifying criteria item, and the fact that he immediately hid shows that he knows you well. And proves he has excellent survival instincts, which is important in a life partner.” She continues, ignoring your snort and accompanying eye roll. “Two, you won’t tell us what you were  _ actually _ doing at Loki’s place.”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“I rest my case.”

“And if I was dating Loki, so what?” You ask your coffee, scowling at it. “It’s not anyone else’s business who I do or don’t date.”

Nat laughs, loudly. “If you believe that, I have a lovely seaside condo in Iowa I can get you a good deal on.”

"No one cared this much when I went on a couple of dates with Russo."

Nat says nothing, just sips her own mug with a delicate little move that has your eyes narrowing.

"Nat..."

"I'm not saying we totally tipped off the FBI about all the shady shit Anvil was actually up to," She says. "But I'm also not saying we didn't."

You gape at her.

"And if you think Stark hasn't run advanced, deep background checks on everyone you've gotten coffee with over the last year..."

"Are you...I don't need you...what the hell, Nat?"

She shrugs. "The men in the family get a little over-protective. Barton and I kept them in line. Mostly."

"Mostly..." Your brain trails back through your recent dating history. "Brian. One of you did something to Brian."

"He wasn't worthy of your time." Nat might as well be talking about the weather. "You deserved someone better. Someone who can hold up under pressure. And," She adds. "Someone who doesn't scream at the first shot of adrenaline."

"What." You could chew nails with the grinding of your molars right now. "Did. You. Do?"

"It was a team effort, really. Though Bucky might've enjoyed himself a little too much," She admits as you drop your head back to the countertop with another groan.


	69. Hurricane Y/N

“Any word from Romanov or y/n?” Rogers asks for the millionth time, foot tapping impatiently next to Wilson’s leg and Sam thinks not for the first time that he’d much rather be inside the casino where the weapons deal is about to go down than trapped in the van with Steve Rogers.

Rogers is many things - a master strategist, great speechmaker, terrible pool player.

He's a better artist than he gives himself credit for, and a worse cook than just about anyone on the team. Sam still can't believe Steve somehow managed to start a fire just by boiling water, but somehow he had.

One thing he isn’t?

Patient.

Like, at all.

And it is seriously starting to mess with Sam’s calm.

Barton and Barnes are inside, Stark is buried in some project back at the lab, and you and Romanov are MIA, and he is stuck here with all two hundred plus pounds of anxious Rogers with a weapons deal about to go down a block away from where they’re parked.

He’s suddenly appreciating Barnes’ restraint in the stabbing department, though at least he’s got enough impulse control to not start verbalizing his sudden desire to make Rogers sit still and shut up by any means necessary.

And you? Where are you? You’re the human equivalent of Xanax for this hyped up golden-retriever of a human being, and you’re nowhere to be found.

Sam doesn’t want to think it but…

Things have been different since they found you at Loki’s place.

Sure, you’re an agent of mystery, and no one really knows all that much about your personal life. But finding you walking out of Loki’s apartment, looking like you’d had a long night of the good kind - hair still damp, cheeks flushed, borrowed shirt - had left something like a sour taste in the team’s mouth.

It was a helluva secret to be keeping.  


Thor was already over it, but Sam had seen the distance that had grown between you and the others. A subtle kind of thing. But no less dangerous for the team.

Bucky in particular wasn't taking it well.

And Sam got it. The ex-assassin needed solid ground more than most. The man was as prickly as a cactus, and the fact that you _had_ earned his trust only to be keeping secrets on this scale...Well, Barnes just wasn't doing well with the sense of betrayal is all.

You denied it, of course. Sam didn’t blame you - it was just that...well, the cat was obviously out of the bag. And when pressed for what you were really doing at Loki’s, you wouldn’t answer...Well, there’s only so many assumptions that could be made.

He hadn’t really seen you as the type to go for the bad boys though.

“Any sign of our buyers yet?” Barton asked.

“No, no not yet.”

“Remind me what we know about these buyers?” Barnes grumbles. “And where the hell is y/n?”

“And Nat?” Sam asks back.

“I don’t know where y/n is,” Barton admits. “But Nat’s on another op. Undercover. Came up last minute.”

“And we know the buyers are a couple. Two women out of Kiev. We know they cleared customs yesterday, so they're definitely on their way here for the buy. They’ll check in at the desk, Buck, and ask for a key to room 738.” Steve jumps in here and Sam is so damn grateful for something to help focus all that nervous energy. “That’s why you’re there.”

“Customer service sucks.” Barnes gripes.

“Try retail,” Barton suggests.

“I missed ‘em,” Barnes swears an hour later, breath already coming in faster pants as he books it up the stairs. “I walked away for two damn seconds and that bitch Kathy checked them in! Two women, nondescript clothing. Cameras didn’t get a good look.”

“Shit.” Sam curses, even as he and Steve grab their gear and beat feet for the casino.

They can hear the shouting before they reach the seventh floor and the kicked in door to room 738.

“Well if you don’t want us to think you’ve gone all darkside, maybe you should pick up your phone!” 

“Bucky, wha-” The question dies on Steve’s lips as they skid into the room.

Nat is cuffing the sellers in question, tossing a quick grin their way. “Hey boys. Was wondering when you’d turn up.”

You’re standing over Bucky, his arm - the non metal one - twisted up behind him in a beauty of a straight-arm bar that Sam recognizes from sparring with you. Metal arm or no, if Buck tries to move, you’re in the perfect position to dislocate that shoulder…

“Why the hell would you think I’ve gone ‘darkside’ to begin with, you idiot?” You’re asking and oh, oh no, Sam can see where this is going before Barnes opens his big stupid mouth and says it.

“Well you’re sleeping with the enemy these days, aren’t you?”

Oh. Oh the look on your face is  _ glacial _ as you release Bucky’s arm and step away from him and the room is deathly silent.

“We would like to be taken into custody now.” Whispers one of the sellers upon seeing your face, and Sam is right there with him because the sheer tension in your frame could literally be next to the definition of ‘calm before the storm’ and holy shit does Sam Wilson not want to be caught in this when Hurricane y/n makes landfall…

And then he watches you swallow it all down. Every ounce of feeling. Between one blink and the next; gone. Like a magic trick. Poof.

He can honestly say he’s never been more scared of you.

Possibly of anything.

“I’m going to go thank casino security for their cooperation.” You say, voice a little stiff as you move away from Barnes, and Sam finds himself and Steve both moving out of your path as you stride for the door. “Nat? You good to catch a ride back with these guys?”

Nat nods. “Yeah. Taking the long way home?”

Your nod is clipped, and then you’re out the door and down the hall as Nat turns and smacks Bucky upside the head with enough force to send his shoulders hunching up and a low hiss out of that dumbass mouth. 

“Nice going, jackass.” Nat pushes one of the sellers towards Sam and he is so grateful to have something to do that will get him out of this room. "You hurt her feelings."


	70. Predators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: hey all, this week is looking pretty nasty (work is nuts and there's a possibility of covid exposure in my household on top of grad apps needing to get in this week) so that means one of two things:  
> 1) I will write a dozen more chapters by Wednesday to deal with the pressure cooker my life has become  
> 2) I will write a dozen more chapters after Thursday to deal with the pressure cooker my life has become
> 
> Point is, set the bar *LOW* for this week's chapters 😂

The opening credits are barely going and already Nat and Clint are arguing, which is pretty typical and oddly comforting at this exact moment in time.

“I’m just saying - furbies’ eyes are in the front, which means they’re predators.” Barton’s lips are set in a mulishly stubborn line. “Y/n, tell Nat I’m right!”

“Furbies are just a  _ toy _ .” Nat retorts, scoffing as you sink down onto the couch in your room. It’s just the three of you, having your own little movie night, because things are still all tense and fucked up with the team right now.

You’ve tried.

You’ve told them the truth - in the limited capacity you can - until you’re blue in the face; if they don’t want to hear it, that’s on them.

Nat knows there’s more than you’re saying, and after a couple of guilt-laden jabs attempted to get you to open up, she’d shrugged it off with her usual ease. 

_ “I’m Russian - or I was,” She said as the two of you cooled down from sparring. “I tend not to weep over betrayal too long.” _

And Barton? Barton didn’t have a clue what had happened to put you at Loki’s, but he knew it wasn’t romance, and that  _ “is as much as I want to know, y/n.” _

Hence, the very very exclusive movie night in your room, with an abundance of popcorn, candy, and even some frozen slushies from the corner store.

“Furbies are a toy,” You concede and Nat pumps her fist in the air in premature victory. “But they are also evil. And predatory. At the very least, possessed by some hive-minded elder god from an alternate dimension.”

“Ha!” Barton grins. “Told ya!”

Nat scoffs at the pair of you now. “I’m going to ask Strange if that’s a thing. You know I will.”

“Do you think Strange even knows what a Furby is?” Barton wonders. "Oooh, look, it's Ah-nold! Get to the choppah!"


	71. Yours, Mine, Ours

Stark is calling and you answer, letting the car system pick it up on bluetooth as you round the corner.

“Where are you going? You vanished from the tracking system five minutes ago and I can’t get a lock on you.”

“I have to go off grid for a couple hours.” You correct as pain shoots up the arm that isn’t holding the steering wheel. “Maybe overnight.”

“Are you…” You can practically see the frown lines forming on Stark’s face. “Y/n, are you hurt?”

“If I say no, will you believe me?” You joke

“Y/n, come back to the tower.”

You shake your head before realizing he can’t see it. “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Stark’s tone takes a knowing turn. “Or won’t?”

“I’ll be fine, Tony.” You turn the last corner and approach your destination. “Gotta go, Stark. Tell Pepper not to worry.” And then you hang up, pulling the car into one of the street parking spots.

It takes a solid two minutes for you to stagger up the steps of the brownstone. Another thirty seconds for your counterpart to open the door.

“Jesus, y/n...what happened?” She takes you in for half a second and then opens the door, helps you stagger to the couch. “Why are you...Let me get you to the Tower...”

“No!” You wince and collapse back on to the couch. “No, just...can’t let them see me like this. Too many questions. Can’t answer.” You hiss as she grabs a medical kit to rival your own from the storage ottoman and you slide off your jacket.

“Things are still a little...tense...I take it?” She clucks her tongue at you. “What’d you do, let someone use you for target practice?”

“Newbie in town.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Ours.” At her raised eyebrows, you explain. “Anti-hero.”

“And you didn’t call me to come along and help?” Her tone and hands are light, but there’s a little worry in her eyes you don’t miss. “Rude.”

"He got me coming out of the grocery store. Now that's rude."

The next twenty minutes are filled with advanced first aid and many swear words. Finally, stitches in, bleeding more or less under control, and a bottle of water later, and you’re slumped across the couch while she tidies up.

“So…” She says finally, taking a seat on the edge of the couch beside you and pulling a blanket up over you. “You going to tell me why you’re coming here for medical aid when you have a perfectly good Tower with state of the art equipment and staff?”

“It’s all Loki’s fault.”

“It usually is.”

You recount the inciting incident - walking out Loki’s front door. And all the little things between here and there. The jibes, the looks, the growing distance between you and the team.

“One thing,” She asks as you wrap it up, letting your head fall back against a surprisingly comfortable throw pillow. “Who the fuck are you and what have you done with y/n?” 

She continues as you gape at her. 

“I mean, you’re the goddamn Avengers’ Wrangler. You’re a badass. You make Earth’s Mightiest Assholes beg for mercy, not the other way around. And look at you right now - running away to protect their feelings.” The sneer she pulls off would put any villain’s to shame as she looks you dead in the eyes. “The y/n I know wouldn't be caught dead slinking away with her tail between her legs like this. So, here's what's going to happen." She pulls a blanket up over you. "You're going to sleep on it. And when you wake up in the morning, my badass friend y/n will be back, and she'll have plan to make those mighty motherfuckers sorry." She passes you two small pills. “Also, take these for the pain."

“Feeling better I see.” She says, strolling into her kitchen where you’re flipping the last set of pancakes. 

“Much. Thanks.” You say, sliding them right off the pan onto a plate that goes directly in front of her. “For last night. Not just the patching me up part...for getting my head on straight.”

Her smile takes on a sharp edge as she stabs the pancake with delight. “Anytime. So,” She asks in between bites of food. “You’ve got a game plan? How’re you going to get control back?”

“I’ve got a game plan.” You confirm. “But I’m going to need your help.”

“Excellent.” She mumbles through a mouthful. "What can I do?"


	72. Ice Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Fake dating! Because I'm a sucker for a trope when I'm stressing

“I have to admit,” Loki’s tone was so quiet you almost missed it, despite the fact that the two of you were alone in the elevator, on your way up to event floor for another Stark Industries Charity Event - the exact name escaped you at the moment. “I’m rather impressed, mortal. It’s not often I get invited to help play a trick of this nature on...well, on anyone. I’m rather looking forward to seeing it all play out. How did you work this up in that mind of yours?”

“Thank the Avengers.” Your grin is genuine as you reach your destination. “They want me to date the villain? Fine.”

The elevator doors open and you step out into the hallway, your heels clacking against the floor, dress floating around your legs, catching the reflective surface of the walls and the movement pulling your attention. You don’t have to look to know what you’ll see - The style and cut are...well, even Nat would admit it’s daring, and your counterpart had let out a long wolf-whistle when you’d stepped out of the bathroom an hour ago.

“You look like you eat mens’ hearts for a living.” She teased as she helped you finish getting ready. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

You look fan-fucking-tastic, and you know it.

The hallway dumps out on the upper level of the event space, stairs spilling down to the main floor, where the DJ is already hard at work and caterers flit between guests around the edges of the modest dance floor.

You’ll have to thank Stark for giving you the pretty much best entrance opportunity ever as the whole team freezes at the sight of you, like a nightmare version of Cinderella’s entrance to the ball and you can feel your smile grow as Loki graciously offers you his hand to help you down the stairs.

“In case anyone asks, I’m the top.” You tell Loki.

“I think I could actually like you,” He murmurs, his own smile a little on the indecent side. “If only because of the looks on their faces right now.” He lets out a little scoff. “As if you or I would ever actually date.”

“Hey now! You’re supposed to be fake-dating me tonight, mister.”

“And while you look lovely, y/n, we would kill each other inside of a month if we actually tried to have a romantic relationship. You love rules too much. And I love to break them.”

“Is that what you tell yourself about  _ her _ ?” You ask and watch his face go carefully still, a little champagne buzz of vindication creeping through your bloodstream as you snag a glass from a passing caterer at the bottom of the stairs. “That it’ll never work?”

“How-” Loki is forced into silence as the team joins you.

“Brother!” Thor claps him hard on the back, but it’s the only happy face in the group. “I’m so glad you’re here! It’s been too long since we last drank together.”

It’s like watching the interaction between a cat - Loki, vaguely disdainful - and dog - Thor’s exuberant, bouncing energy - and it makes your laugh real as Loki wraps his arms around you, putting you solidly between him and your team, all the while looking like he just can’t keep his hands off you.

“Is this why Barton came down with food poisoning so suddenly?” Nat asks, a small grin teasing the corner of her lips as she looks at the pair of you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She laughs, and steps in close, placing her hand on your arm as she leans in. “Make ‘em sweat.” She says, tossing you a quick wink. “C’mon, Bruce, I want to dance.”

“You…” Stark’s momentary gape is doing so much for your serotonin levels right now. “I..He...You...Do they chafe?” He finally manages. “Her balls,” He explains as the others turn to look at him in confusion. “Her big, brass, Texas-sized balls. Bringing him  _ here _ .”

“He’s my plus one. And since all of you refused to believe me when I told you we weren't dating, I figured, why keep up the charade any longer?” You shrug. “And no, chafing’s never been an issue. After all,” You watch Wilson choke on his beer. “God put mine on my chest, probably for that very reason.”

The only person enjoying the evening more than you is Loki. Okay, you concede as the Frost Giant spins you again, before pulling you back flush alongside his body, maybe not ‘more’, but certainly ‘as much’.

Watching Earth's Mightiest Heroes choke on the imaginary relationship in person, before their very eyes, is the most fun you've had in _weeks._

“Did you see their faces?” You can’t help but ask. “When you used that pet name?”

“I sure did, ‘snookums’.” 

You give in to the urge and bury your head against his chest to hide the snicker, feel his own chest bounce with laughter as his head ducks down to brush by your ear.

“But if you ever call me ‘my ice baby’ again,” He murmurs, soft and low. “I will make your life a living hell.”

“Aww.” You pull your head up and pat his cheek with only a little condescension. “It’s adorable that you think you can threaten me.”

God, it’s good to be back, you think to yourself as you catch the glares Barnes, Wilson, and Rogers are sending your way.

Loki tosses the three heroes a smug smile and wink as his hand moves to your low, low back and your laugh isn’t faked at all.

“Okay, for a guy who tried to conquer the world,” You admit. “You’re not half-bad, Loki.”

“Just don’t tell anyone. My reputation couldn’t take the hit. I’d have to go out and do something truly horrific to restore my good - err, bad - name.” He straightens, slows the pace as the music changes. "Ready for the big finale?"

"Did you brush?" You ask suspiciously and he grants you a small, real smile. "Alright, yeah, yeah, let's get it over with. These heels - though awesome - are starting to hurt, and our friend is waiting for us with Thai food and the new season of Great Brit-"

Your words are cut short as Loki lowers his lips to yours, and proceeds to, well, the only word that comes to mind is ravish, your mouth. It's a long set of moments til he breaks away and you're left there, music forgotten, panting as you try to actually still your beating heart as he grins down at you smugly. 

"That ought to do it?" He asks, thumbing away the lipstick at the edge of your mouth he so expertly smudged.

"Yeah." You nod, taking his hand in your own as you lead him from the dance floor. "That oughta do it."

The night passes well once you're back in your room - your counterpart has hung around, as promised, and you're left breathless with giggles after watching Loki start to critique the bakers.

"You have never baked a goddamn thing in your life." Your counterpoint notes as you roll your eyes. "So shut up about the buttercream already, you overblown Asgardian."

The three of you fall asleep in a tangle of limbs on your floor in front of the tv, and the next morning, you walk your guests out bright and early before any of your team members are up and about.

Or. Almost.

Rogers walks into the kitchen just in time to see you blow a kiss to your counterpart and Loki before the elevator doors close.

"What?" You ask, making for the coffee as his eyebrows raise. 

"I thought you were with Loki."

It really ought to be a sin to be so clueless, you think as you fix your mug up just the way you like it. "Mmm." Is what you say noncommittally. "And?"

"But...Loki...And...Another woman? How does that..."

He doesn't move as you walk over, staring up at those super-blue eyes. Gently, you pat you hand on his stupidly large pec with saccharine understanding. "It's okay, Stevie. Sometimes you just gotta get a little creative."

And you leave a bright-red superhero behind you as you head back to your room, smiling into your mug.


	73. That's What The Internet Is For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I had my spotify playlist on random shuffle and Avenue Q came up and I definitely wrote this while listening to a particular number from that musical - I'm sorry 😂

Sam knows something is wrong when he’s able to keep pace with Steve on their morning run. But Steve shakes off his questions while flushing some pretty impressive shades of red that Sam’s never seen before, so he lets it go as they finish the route.

Sam Wilson can count on Bucky Barnes to solve this mystery.

And whatdayaknow, Bucky’s in the kitchen when they come back, head buried in the fridge as he - Sam sniffs the air. _Oh yeah_. Bacon.

“How’s the run?” Bucky asks as Sam grabs the OJ from the counter. “Don’t you do it, Wils-” The protest dies with a growl as Sam drinks straight from the jug and flips him the bird.

“Fine.” Steve answers.

And Bucky Barnes’ eyes narrow.

Sam is beside himself with anticipation. Bucky Barnes has a very short, very specific list of interests, things he really  _ genuinely _ gives a shit about.

Steve Rogers is first, second, and probably third on that list.

So Steve Rogers answering with that short, obviously-lying ‘fine’?

No way is Bucky Barnes gonna let that fly. And as long as Sam Wilson has access to the plate of bacon next to the stove...well, it should be a good show.

“Wanna try again, punk?” Bucky asks.

Steve rubs the back of his head, already pinking up and mutters something too low for Sam to hear. For Bucky too, apparently.

“Louder.”

The Man With A Plan goes pinker than a lingerie catalogue on Valentine’s Day. “I...it’s…it’s about...sex stuff. Not mine!” He adds in a rush as Bucky’s eyes narrow. “I just...this morning I saw y/n walking Loki to the elevator-”

Wait? Sam bites wrong on the bacon in his mouth and ends up chomping down on his tongue instead. That...that asshole  _ stayed the night _ ?

“-and I wasn’t going to say anything, ‘cause, you know. That took guts. Them being...all couple-y like that. In public. Considering.”

Aww, Steve’s romantic side is showing.

“But they weren’t alone.” Steve’s looking like a can of tomato juice as he rubs the back of his neck. “They had another woman with them. Last night. I think. I mean…” He gestures with his hands. “Her hair was all...disheveled and stuff.”

Sam knows he’s staring. He can’t stop. “What...what did she say?”

Steve goes impossibly more red. “She...ah, y/n said that...uh, sometimes you have to get a little creative.” The look he shoots Bucky is all-over puppy dog pathetic. “But I, uh. I don’t get it.”

The hoot that rips itself out of him is loud and Sam has to fight to bring his laughter under control. “Sorry,” He coughs, grinning. “Sorry, just…Continue, please,” He says, snapping up another piece of still hot bacon.

Bucky Barnes sighs. “You weren’t this stupid about sex before the ice, Steve.”

“Oh. No,” Steve flounders. “I mean, I know - they were having a...menage a trois...or whatever. I just…”

“You got curious.” Sam is going to hell for laughing this much at Captain America, surely, as he waggles his eyebrows. “Cap wants to know more.”

“Well,” Bucky’s hand has tightened on the edge of the counter so much that there are cracks in the stone now, another little detail Sam is going to file away for annoyance ammunition. “That’s what the internet is for, Steve.”

"Looking up..." Steve trails off uncertainly.

"Porn, Steve." Sam finally says, unable to take another minute. "The internet is for porn."


	74. Halloween Headcannon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So. I did a thing. And called in sick to work (because hey, mentally and emotionally? Sick) so today you get some little headcannons as I bounce between staring into space and getting shit done

“But whhhhy do we have to have our costumes approved by you?” Barton pouts at you and Bob, having just laid down the law on expectations for the upcoming Stark Halloween Party.

“One, because optics matter.” Bob sighs.

“And two,” You add. “What did Wilson and Barnes do last year?”

“Ruined everything, apparently.” Stark snorts, tossing the duo in question a glare.

You nod sagely. “Damn right they did.”

“It’s not my fault Birdbrain doesn’t have a sense of humor.” Barnes goes to kick his feet up on your desk, catches the glare mid-leg raise, and lets his boots fall back to the floor petulantly. 

“ _ I  _ don’t have a sense of humor?” Sam Wilson’s scowl is incredulous. “ _ I _ don’t? Which one of us threw the first punch, you sad hobo-looking mothe-”

“Enough.” You don’t have to slam your hand down on the desk, but you do for dramatic effect. “The point is, after last year, you’re being treated like the adolescents you are. Which means, since there will be members of the public and press attending this party, all costumes are subject to dual approval from me and Bob.”

“Bob and I,” Banner corrects absentmindedly. “Sorry.”

“Which also means,” You continue on. “No wrapping tinfoil around your arm and drawing a red star on it in sharpie.” Wilson’s shoulders don’t quite hunch, but they do move towards his ears a little defensively as you pin him with a level look before turning the same look on his partner in crime. “And no making cardboard wings and wearing swim goggles and walking around with a stuffed parrot on your shoulder with red wings.”

Nat raises her hand. “What about slutty costumes?”

“Pending approval. No slutty Cap costumes though. We’re not trying to break the internet again.” Bob takes that one, with you nodding beside him.

“What if Cap wears it?” Stark poses as he spins the pen between his fingers. 

“Don’t make me say no slutty costumes at all, Stark.”

“Buzzkill.” He scoffs.

“Professionally,” You agree. “And don’t you forget it.” You give them all a measuring glance to be sure they understand you. “Alright, Avengers. Go. Disassemble.”


	75. WBD

“I have never,” You admit, collapsing onto the couch after the longest three days of your life. “Met someone who embodied ‘walking bisexual disaster’ more in my life.”

“Agreed.” Your counterpart says from the floor, where she’s laid face down. “And as I’ve now met Bucky Barnes, that’s saying something.”

You huff out a breath, too tired to laugh, knowing how stunned Barnes would be if he'd realized the 'gal pal' you'd grabbed coffee with from the lobby was none other than the Villain Wrangler herself.

“Yeah. Eddie Brock, man…” The last three days flashes before your eyes. Running - so much running trying to keep up with your anti-hero visitor out here for a special news report. “That dude takes it to a whole ‘nother level.” You snort. “Thank God he’s based out of San Fran. Jesus, could you imagine if he lived  _ here _ ?”

The Villain Wrangler lets out a sound that is equal parts sob, laugh, and cry. “No. Don't put that kind of juju out into the universe, y/n.”

“We should send our colleagues out west something nice. They deserve it. And maybe we can bribe them to keep him from ever coming back here.”

“What could possibly be a good enough bribe to make up for  _ that _ ?”

“I don’t know.” Your body is finally relaxing, limbs heavy, and you admit to yourself that inertia will take its due before you can even contemplate getting back up and heading to the tower.

“Venom’s nice though.” 

“Yeah. He’s pretty cool for an alien lifeform. And man, what a handy way to dispose of the bodies...”


	76. Don't Dream It, Be It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This is entirely Darth_Nuisha's fault 😂

He cannot wait to tell Bucky and Sam about this.

This may be the single greatest trolling thing he’s ever done, including showing up at Peter's school the one time to get him out of detention...

And it’s all going according to plan - your face is carefully,  _ too  _ carefully, neutral as you scan the papers in front of you. Steve watches you flip through the folder - source material for his halloween costume - and tries to contain his smug glee. 

“So…?”

You’re going to say no.

Of course you’re going to say no. 

He just wants to watch you try to contain your stunned surprise is all.

“Okay.”

He blinks. “What?”

You lean back as you push the folder across the desk to him, cross your hands behind your head. “I said ‘okay’.”

You...you can’t be serious, he thinks, looking closely at your face.

“And that’s...that’s...it?”

You nod.

“You’re not going to give me any shit about this?”

“N-ope.” You pop the ‘p’ sound and he feels sweat start to form on his now-clammy hands. “I think you’ll pull it off just fine, Rogers. It's good to see you branching into pop culture these days.”

“T-t-thanks.”

Your eyebrow arches. “Was there something else?” The dismissal in your tone is clear.

“I really didn’t expect you to say yes,” He mutters, pushing to his feet and closing his fingers around the edge of the folder.

You tsk at him as he turns to go. “Rogers?”

He turns and there’s more than a hint of the devil in your eyes and your smile. “Yes?”

“Rocky Horror is one of my favorite movies of all time, so...make sure you do Frank-n-furter justice, yeah? Let me know if you need help sourcing the shoes,” You add, almost as an afterthought, looking away as you turn back to the stack of reports still waiting for you.


	77. Sharks and Sadness

“I’m going to make you something special. Since it’s just us girls tonight.”

“Really, y/n…” Nat doesn’t even bother to pick her head up off her hand as you move into the kitchen, disrupting the quiet brooding act she’d been in the middle of for the better part of the day.

“Shut up and put on a playlist, Romanov.” You bend to reach the special hiding spot, tucked up flush inside the lower cabinets where the freakishly tall members of your team would never deign to look and pull out a bar of extra dark Ghirardelli. “I learned this from my mother. Bad day fixer upper. Guaranteed.”

“Does it involve booze?” The quip is pure Natasha, even if it's delivered without any of its usual...sparkle.

“It does not. It'll still work.” You toss over your shoulder as you grab a knife, a cutting board, a saucepan, a whisk, and the milk from the fridge. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

Her shoulders move upwards. “Nothing.”

You give her a quick, assessing glance as you pour the milk into the pan and begin to heat it over the stove top. “You mean literally.”

“You know what I hate about down time?”

“Uh, literally everything?”

“Exactly.” She smiles at you as you begin to chop the chocolate into slivers. “Barnes would have a field day if he saw you using his favorite knife for that.”

“Why do you think I’m doing it?” You ask and are rewarded with a smile that actually does reach the corners of her eyes. “Hey, now, Red. It’s just me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I just...get a little blue. Sad. Not cry sad, just...blue sad. In the between time.”

You nod sagely. “You’re a shark. I know.” You roll your eyes at her stare. “You have to keep moving to circulate the water through your gills or you won’t get enough oxygen and you’ll die.”

“Never should have let you watch Shark Week…” She grumbles, and you have to bite back a smile because she looks a little pitiful, swinging her foot idly. “But accurate. So I guess I’m just...there right now. Slowed down.”

“Well, I can’t exactly summon up a villain for you to fight-”

She scoffs. “You literally have the Villain Wrangler on speed dial.”

“-but I can fix you this treat, and then we can just sit here and quietly enjoy it.”

“Do I actually have a choice?”

“Always. The choice is whether or not I have to beat you up to get you to accept some companionship. I’d prefer that you didn’t - the chocolate’s bound to get in the middle of it, and that would be a waste of the good stuff.”

“Yeah.” She says, and it’s a capitulation and surrender in four little letters and a soft sound before she moves on. “How did you manage to hide that from Wilson?”

“It’s not Wilson you gotta worry about with this stuff.” You stir the slivered chocolate into the milk, along with several generous spoonfuls of baking cocoa powder. “It’s Rogers.” You whisk, gently but firm, and add a heaping spoonful of sugar to the mix, careful to whisk thoroughly so none of the chocolate sticks. “So I hide it low - he never looks in the lower cabinets.”

“Hmm. Good strategy.” 

You pour the hot chocolate into two mugs, pass her one, and blow gently on the still-steaming surface. “Right? Such a sugar fiend.”

And the rest of the night passes quietly, without a word between you two, filled up with companionable silence.


	78. Muscle Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: soft, stressed sentimental bastard? Yep, that's me alright
> 
> Also, update - the COVID tests all came back negative! 🥳

Bucky Barnes’ memory is one of your favorite things.

Aside from all the death and murder, obviously.

Hydra downloaded a metric shit ton of skill sets into his brain for his missions, anything to make their operative maximally effective. And then they’d wipe his brain, clean the film reel, and move on. But the skills...the skills  _ stayed _ . And they had a tendency to pop up at unexpected moments, without warning or context.

Like the first time you’d taken Barnes into Starbucks, expecting you’d need to break down the menu, and he’d been standing there, struck dumb, you imagined, and you’d gone to offer reassurance when he opened his mouth.

“Why the  _ fuck _ would I need to know this?” He’d asked in utter bewilderment, staring up at the menu in a mixture of dawning comprehension and disgust.

It’s that same bewilderment on his face now as Nat drags you into the living room and shoves you to the floor, back against the couch, in front of him and says, “Barnes knows how to braid that one.”

“I...How do I know that?” Barnes asks as Nat shakes out your sad, pathetic attempt at a new, complicated braid you’d been trying out. A note of frustration creeps into his voice even as you feel the strands of your hair shifting beneath his fingers. “ _ Why _ do I know this?”

“I’ll tell you,” Nat promises with a sly smile as she sinks down across from you. “If you braid y/n’s hair.”

You can  _ feel _ the power of Barnes’ sulk. And then a moment later, the gentle tug of fingers moving through your locks.

“Okay,” Romanov settles back with a happy, pleased smirk. “Once upon a time…”

“Romanov,” You both simultaneously complain.

“Once upon a time, there was a place called the Red Room.” Nat’s body language is deceptively relaxed, and you don’t buy it for a minute, but Barnes’ fingers are moving through your hair, and you can practically feel the eagerness radiating off of him, to know more about himself, and so you keep yourself right where you are. “And it was home to twenty eight little girls who were being trained to be assassins.”

“Murder munchkins.” Barnes’ fingers momentarily still. “I called you murder munchkins. You were...cute…” His fingers start moving again. “Always dancing around me, asking about how to kill someone this way or that way…” He laughs, a soft little sound. “Natalia tried to teach me how to braid, but she was terrible at it.”

“Still am.” Nat smiles, and it’s also a soft, little thing. Edged with sadness, worn by time. “But you let us use your hair for practice anyway.”

“Improves dexterity. Like knitting.”

You might as well be invisible, which is fine. The two most deadly, lonely people you know are having a  _ moment _ . One tiny, small, soft moment of a memory in a sea of terrible memories that isn’t awfulness.

It’s a gift, this moment, and you won’t be the one to disturb it.

“You taught me that too.” Natasha’s smile is still there as she looks past you, at the man behind you. “I hated it at first.”

“Me too.” Barnes murmurs. “But my Ma…” He pauses again. “Huh. I didn’t...I didn’t think that was one of the ones that was mine…”

Oh. Oh, your heart broke just a little right there.

“Hey guys. Is there coffee?” Barton’s words have you half-turning before Barnes turns your head back, continuing to braid. “Oooh...fancy fishtail, Barnes.”


	79. Memelord Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Will definitely have to edit this chapter one day and flesh it out more because oohhh the head-cannon just writes itself...

Peter is chatting with Shuri via the kimoyo beads she sent him for his birthday a couple years ago when you get back, pleading with her about his asshole physics professor. “No, seriously, he’s an arrogant douchenozzle and I just  _ need _ you to show up and show him that he’s  _ wrong _ .”

Shuri laughs as you make your way to the coffee pot. 

Empty. Again.  _ Barton. _

You pull out the coffee grounds and start prepping a new pot to go with your lovely evening activities of reading up on this new international trade regulation policy in the middle east.

Rogers gives you the tiniest glance from the counter where he’s hunched over the New York Times. He’s finally stopped blushing every time you’re in the same room, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. has finally forgiven him for getting her firewalls assaulted from all the porn-click-bait viruses he’s unleashed on the system.

You’d told F.R.I.D.A.Y. that was one thing about the Avengers you never, ever wanted to know about ever again.

“Pllllllleeeeeeeease.” Parker whines. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You are actually in the process of opening your mouth when someone else in the room beats you to it.

“Then perish.” Rogers says in a voice completely devoid of all emotion.


	80. You Didn't See That Coming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Another short little chapter
> 
> Going to be taking a couple days break from posting here

“What in the hell is going on out here?” Rogers asked as Wanda let out another happy shriek and dragged the silver-haired man back into another bone-crunching hug. Was that...Pietro Maximoff?

“Look who’s back from the dead,” Barton grinned.

“What? How?”

“Who? When? Where? Why?” Steve Rogers did not  _ jump _ per se at the sudden appearance of the red suited man next to him, but he may have flinched a little. “So many questions, so few answers.”

“Wade…” You warn, though your scowl is half-way melted into a smile.

‘Wade’ shrugs. “I found him wandering outside the lines of the panels. Poor baby’s been there since Ultron, so I figured I’d better return him to you.”

“For which you have already been thanked.” You remind him.

“C’mon, y/n.” Wade drapes an arm over your shoulders in an overly familiar gesture that has everyone else tensing. “We both know killing off poor Pietro was a stupid ass decision, which is why I’ve elected to ignore it.”


	81. Sticks and Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: OMG YOU GUYS - my brain made a liar out of me in record time...Maybe if I tell myself I'm not allowed to work on my SOP, it will spark the same kind of juju for grad school? That'll work, right?

“We have a problem.” Strange says as you turn the page and cast him a glance.

“No,” You counter. “YOU have a problem. I have idiots who keep getting into them, which is why I told you to not let them inside the sanctum.”

“We have a serious problem in the hall of artifacts.”

“What? Did Stark try on the Dancing Boots of Baltar again?”

“Worse.” Strange is actually pale under that ridiculous goatee. “They got the Sword of Decimation out of the case somehow.”

Your boots hit the floor and you are running right alongside Strange as he uses his ring to open a portal to the artifacts room. “Shit.”

“Make it stop!” Wilson shouts as you bust through the portal and up the stairs. “Please!”

“ _ And your brother has always been your mother’s favorite…” _ The Sword is floating sinisterly in the middle of the room as whispering voices drift from it, strange tendrils of emotional energy wafting around Earth’s Mightiest Assholes, who are all frozen in place by the insidious phrases being whispered in their ears.

“Strange…” You eye the distance between you and the Sword of Decimation.

“Stay out of its range of influence. I need a minute.”

“ _ It’s all your fault.”  _ The sword hisses in the voice of the Void.  _ “You could have reached him...could have kept him from falling…”  _ You watch Rogers’ face go utterly white at the words.

“Hurry up, Strange, it’s killing them.” Your teeth are gritted so hard you’re going to crack a molar.

“ _ You’re a terrible father - what if you don’t come back one day?”  _ Barton is about two shades of green further than the last time he got into the Asgardian mead. “ _ What do you really do for this team anyway? Arrows? In this day and age?” _

“Strange!”

“Another minute.”

“Fuck this noise.” You mutter as Nat stares at her hands in horror - too far away for you to hear what it's whispering to her - and stride forward.

“Y/n!” Strange shouts behind you. “Noo!”

All those tendrils of aether come streaming towards your face, and you see the Avengers physically  _ sag _ under the release of attention from the Sword.

“ _ You’ll never live up to your true potential, babysitting superheroes _ .” The Sword says to you, whispering in your ear as you fight to put the next foot forward, then the next.  _ “You won’t be able to protect them in the end. You don’t protect them now…” _

You make a fist, clench your jaw, and take the next step as Strange motions the Avengers out of range.

" _Who do you really think you are? You think you're deserving of your role?_ "

Distantly, you’re aware they’re staring, but you have to get to the Sword and shut. It. Down.

The Sword scoffs as you move closer, closer, almost… “ _You can’t possibly measure up against them - you’re weak, pathetic. No special gifts or abilities. Just a girl._ ”

Oh, that last one...that last one almost gets you, but you push through it, and shove your arm forward, taking hold of the sword.

“ _What? What are you doing?_ ” The voice turns confused “How _are you doing this_?”

You scoff now. “You’re just a mean voice in people’s heads.” You feel it start to kick in your hand, and tighten your grip. “Like...buddy...I hate to break it to you… but one of us here is pathetic, and it isn’t me.”

The Sword’s tendrils flicker, and then vanish, leaving you holding a no longer animated enchanted object in the hall of artifacts.

“How did you…” Strange sputters. “You’re not a sorcerer, you shouldn’t have been able to…”

“Did you...You just roasted the...that thing.” Barton says, eyes a little wide.

You shrug. “I have a lot of practice telling people’s insecurities to go fuck themselves.”


	82. The Day Job

“So,” Great Aunt Ellen asks. “How’s work?”

“Oh…” You manage to hide your smile in the post-holiday-dinner coffee. “It’s pretty boring.”

_ “Walk me through how to disarm this thing!” Wilson shouts through the comms as you pull up schematics for the Stark-based knock off incendiary device the team just found. “C’mon, y/n….” _

_ “Do you want to take responsibility for blowing you all to kingdom come?” You snarl, finally  _ finally _ finding the right set of plans. “Okay, take off the casing. Slowly…” _

“What is it you do again, dear?” 

“Oh,” Your mother chimes in, handing you each a plate with a slice of Grandma’s holiday pumpkin roll, and your stomach lets out a happy little gurgle. “She’s in...what is it again? People operations, right y/n? Human resources?”

“Mmhmm.” You say noncommittally around a suddenly full mouth. 

_ “Barnes, if you don’t get your ass in position, they’re going to be sitting ducks out here.”  _

_ “Well excccuuuuse me.” Barnes gripes, breath coming fast and hard as he books it to his secondary location. “Can anyone else take out a hostile from more than two thousand meters? No? Then shut up.” _

_ “Just hurry the hell up, will ya?” _

_ Barnes mutters a suggestion about what you can do with your ‘hurry up’. _

_ “Not anatomically possible.” You reply, watching on the screen as the hostile patrol group rounds the corner. “Points for creativity though. You’ve got about two minutes.” _

_ “I only need one.” _

_ “This explains so much about your dating life…” _

“But what do you actually do every day?” Your cousin Caroline leans around Ellen to ask. She’s a firefighter down in Atlanta, so the idea of being stuck in an office holds zero appeal for her, but she's trying to show an interest.

“Well, it’s pretty much the same thing every day.”

_ Terrorist cell in Cleveland _

_ Alien invasion off the coast of Hawaii _

_ Barton’s latest prank _

_ Mad scientist in Washington _

_ Plying Bob with Family Secret Recipes after a hellish interview _

_ Terregenesis crystals being shipped out in fish oil supplements _

_ Flying, angry robots _

_ Stark’s fashion sense _

“A lot of paperwork.” Your voice gains a bit more confidence as this is technically true.

_ “Please stop writing ‘pew pew’ on your reports Barton.” You ask as you stand over Barton’s last set of chest presses. “I beg of you. Also, no more crayons.” _

_ Maria tosses another case file on to your desk and you groan, covering your eyes. _

_ “And here,” The desk sarge points to another spot you need to sign while two officers escort Barnes and Wilson out of holding. “And here too.” _

“It’s pretty boring stuff.” You finish and the conversation around you moves on.


	83. Whole Paycheck

_ A couple of years ago... _

“Where are you and what did you do?” You asked on an exhale as you answered your phone.

“How do you-” Wilson’s defensive tone stomped on one of your remaining handful of nerves after a too long week of putting out fires and dealing with petulant heroes.

You were getting a grip on this job, but starting to lose your grip on your sanity some days.

“Cut the shit, Sam. You and Barnes left the Tower an hour ago and no one has heard from you until now." Wilson and Barnes unsupervised and at large was a recurring feature in your stress-dreams these days. "Where are you and what did you do?”

In the background you can hear...is that...muzak?...and the sound of someone crying, and someone else using the coaxing voice long-haul customer service people do when confronted with abnormal behavior that they just want out of their store because they just don't get paid enough, thanks ever so much.

“We’re at Whole Foods.”

“Why?” You shake your head, thinking better of the question. 'Why' is a useless question, even if you got an honest answer. It doesn't matter that the Tower staff will acquire literally anything any of  Earth's Mightiest Assholes might want - Wilson had to take Barnes to a bougie-ass grocery store. “Never mind why. What is going on?”

Wilson blows out a short breath. “Well I didn’t think it would  _ break _ him to see a grocery store, y/n.” His voice drops. “ _Please_ come get us.”

“Wilson…” You’re already moving. “Just...I’ll be there in ten.”

It’s more like twenty, but the upside is, you don’t have to ask to be directed to your errant, evergreen pain in the ass partners-in-crime dubious duo. Not when you can hear Wilson’s panicked tones warning people to stay back as you round the corner, escorted by store security and management - both of whom had visibly unwound at your credentials.

Wilson's face has the same endearing mix as your nephew's did last spring when he chased the cat up a tree and got stuck - apprehension, relief - and you'd finally found him. It's the look that says 'oh thank god, an _adult_. "I didn't mean to..."

"Shhh." You tell him, and point behind you. "Help security clear the store. I'll take care of this."

Wilson beats feet faster than he does during a game of Assassin's Dodgeball, which is kind of impressive.

“Barnes?” You ask, approaching slowly so as not to disturb the former Winter Soldier as he pulls another cheese wheel to his chest with a loving hug and watery eyes. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m going to live in this cheese aisle for the rest of my life.” Barnes sniffles up at you. "It's so beautiful, y/n."


	84. All My Exes...

“What in the shit is wrong with these guys?” You ask as yet another member of the Hand backs up and runs from you. “Like, damn, I know I’m scary, but not  _ that _ scary.”

Honestly, you’re a little bummed - you’d been hoping to work out some stress on a couple of goons on tonight’s mission.

You throw a dropped walkie talkie with enough force that it smacks into the back of the goon’s leg and takes him down with a sharp yelp.

Nat is a couple steps behind you as you catch up to him and grab him by the shirt collar.

“Why are you running away?” You ask.

“Under orders.” He gulps, sweat beading his brow. “Not to hurt y/n. At all costs.”

“Well who the hell gave that order?” Nat asks, mostly rhetorically.

“Oh no. I’m not telling you anything else.” Your eyes narrow and the goon goes several shades paler and he vomits up the name like a shield that'll protect him somehow. “Elektra Natchios.”

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me Elektra is running the Hand?” You blink and release his collar. “Huh. Good for her.”

“Wait,” Nat is staring at you as the rest of the team joins you. “You know Elektra Natchios? Personally?”

“Knew. We may have dated for a brief, memorable summer.” Very memorable. Vividly memorable, but you have to shove all that back in the box for now so you can get on with the job.

“You dated  _ the leader of the Hand _ ?” Rogers asks, returning the shield to its sheath on his back.

“Guess y/n’s got a type.” Barnes grouches, and returns your glare as he flicks a bit of gore off his arm with a shrug.

“Well she wasn’t when we dated.” You take in the range of expressions before you. “Why is this so shocking? I had a life before all this, you know.”

“I mean,” Stark is the first to speak. “Just speaking for myself here, but, I always kind of pictured you springing fully grown into existence like some kind of particularly terrifying greek myth...”


	85. Three Bean Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this started in one place and ended in a whole 'nother world....

He hates the cold.

He hates it so fucking much there aren’t words for it.

Hates it with a fiery, hot passion that has Steven Grant Rogers cussing up a storm to make a sailor blush as he stomps the snow off his boots and gets in the elevator to get back to the living quarters of the Tower.

Fuck the cold. And snow. And ice...especially the ice, which seems to sink into his bones despite the layers of clothing he’s wearing, and the fact that it’s only lightly snowing. 

It should’ve been pretty - taking a turn around the city in the snow as the lights came on and the snow drifts down.

And all he could think about what how much he hates the fucking cold.

He’s going to turn the hot water up as high as it can go and soak in the super soldier sized tub Tony’d installed in his suite and he’s going to have F.R.I.D.A.Y. crank up the heat until it’s a fucking sauna...

He’s still swearing when the elevator doors open and he steps into the kitchen and the smell...oooh, the smell makes him stop in his tracks while you stir something over the stovetop.

“Whatcha making?” He asks as the smell continues to wind its way around him. It smells so good...so  _ warm _ , pushing away the first level of chill.

“Three bean soup.”

“...With…” He pauses for a minute, sniffs the air testingly. “Coffee, vanilla, and cocoa?”

“All beans.” You point out with a small smile. “It’s really coming down out there.”

He shivers just thinking about it. Cold, white. Howling and silent all at once...

“I’m making extra.” You tell him and the cold is pushed back, just a little bit more. “If you want some?”

He wants to say no. Wants to hole up in his room where no one will see him shake and shiver as he slowly thaws and curses the fucking cold with all the words Brooklyn and the army and internet have gifted him with.

Seriously, the internet. So helpful.

He wants to say no.

And you see it, he realizes. The same way you see Bucky’s self-distrust, and Barton’s sharp edges that’ll never file all the way down and Nat’s few but unmoveable, uncrossable lines. The way you see past Tony’s flashy exterior and Parker’s shy rambling and Wilson’s antics.

“I ever tell you about my parents’ place, Rogers?” You ask when he doesn’t move.

“Uh...no.” He’s abstractly aware that you have parents, somewhere. That you were recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy at the tender age of twelve. That’s about the extent of your childhood he knows about.

“It’s nice. Rural. On a lake.” You add more cocoa to the saucepan on the stovetop. “And every year, we’d wait, and wait, and wait for it to freeze over so we could skate on it.” Your eyes move back to him, and he finds himself leaning against the counter opposite you. “My Dad was pretty strict about it - he had to give the okay every year.” Your wrist moves, stirring gentle circles and the smell of ‘three bean soup’ drifts through the room. “Only one year, I got impatient.”

“You fell through.” Doesn’t take a genius to put that together, not with the way you’ve been waiting for him, the way you're looking at him.

“I fell through.” You confirm and reach for a pair of mugs from the shelf next to the stove. “I’ve never been so cold. Before or since. Well,” You correct as you pour the liquid into the mugs and steam wafts off the top of the mugs. “There was that almost-bled-to-death-moment in Jacksonville, but I’m not supposed to talk about that.” You hand him one of the mugs and the heat is like a lifeline through his hands, pushing back another layer of cold. “I fell through the ice and into that water.” You shiver, an echo of his own. “There aren’t words, and I was only in there for a few minutes.” Your eyes slide back to him. “I can’t imagine what seventy years was like, but...sometimes the cold that kills you isn’t just physical, Rogers.”

“Is this where you tell me to go to therapy or Sam’s groups?” He can’t help it if there’s a hint of bitterness in his voice at the question.

Not that therapy isn’t helpful. Or that Sam’s groups aren’t a place where he can...he can start to carve back pieces of his soul he hadn’t realized he’d lost somewhere in Europe.

But how do you explain to a shrink what it feels like when the ice crawls its way inside your soul? When it surrounds you, freezes you from the inside out?

When for seventy fucking years you can't move, held immobile, barely aware, but enough to know the cold surrounds you, sinks through you, while your mind...your mind plays every card ever invented to keep itself intact?

How do you tell someone...anyone...that you were just barely awake through all that?

He hasn't even told Bucky that, but somehow, you know, and you shrug as you answer him.

“Nope. Just reminding you that you happen to live with a bunch of people who’ve gone through the ice in their own ways. And if you want to be alone, well, we all get that too. Just,” Your eyes sharpen on him now. "Remember you're not alone in the ice anymore, Steve."

You take a sip from your mug and he follows suit, not sure what to make of your words just yet, but feeling...feeling warm through and through for the first time in a long time.


	86. Fridged

“and Steve Rogers boards the Valkyrie on his way to getting fridged - literally - so Peggy Carter can become a hero…” Darcy stabs her chopsticks with the kind of violent 'oomph' you're used to seeing Barnes use with knives. "The man is the _definition_ of male feminist. Plus, biceps. Biceps for daaaays."

You smile and shake your head while rooting through the takeout carton for more shrimp. “You did not just say Rogers got fridged in all seriousness.”

“Think about it though,” Darcy pouts as Pepper passes Nat the last of the spring rolls. “It’s like...if that story got turned into a movie...That’s what it would be. He gets fridged, and Peggy Carter goes on to smash the patriarchy.”


	87. Charity Cover

“Won’t your big cuddly frost giant get pissed?” Wilson asks as the pair of you enter the hotel. 

“It isn’t that kind of relationship.” You shrug, leaning into him because, damn, it actually is a bit chilly out and women’s formalwear is not built for cold. “Besides, Loki is hardly the jealous type.”

Maybe it’s a little petty, but you’re genuinely starting to enjoy how easy it is to say one thing and mean another, knowing full well how your merry band of assholes will take it.

Aside from that night at Stark’s party, it isn’t like you’ve actively done anything to encourage them, exactly. And you haven’t  _ lied _ .

You just haven’t corrected them when they make assumptions.

After all, you know what they say about those...

“Y’all are in an open relationship?” Wilson whistles. “I did not peg you for the sharing kind, y/n.”

“Can we try to focus on the mission?” You ask as you follow the flow of well-dressed socialites heading into the event hall.

“Please.” Barnes seconds from the van. "Focus. Like professionals."

You and Wilson share a snort at that coming from Barnes of all people.

“I actually want to know the answer - invites are going out soon for the next Stark Gala, and Pepper has been nagging me for weeks about your plus one.” Despite the complaint, Stark’s voice softens on his wife’s name. “I hate it when they hide international arms deals inside charity events.” Stark’s voice comes through loud and clear from somewhere else in the giant, decked out room. “It’s so tacky.”

“For once, I agree with Stark.” Barton chimes in, sweeping past you and Wilson with a wink. “Also, can we admit how cute a couple Wilson and y/n make?”

"We would make adorable babies." Wilson teases. "Your brains, my beauty...they'd be unstoppable, y/n. Un. Stop. Able."

“I can’t wait til Romanov and Rogers are back from Prague.” You grumble. “I hate being the undercover girlfriend. I don’t know how Nat makes this look so easy.”

“Hey,” Wilson’s hand squeezes your own. “I promise next time to make Bucky show up as the undercover girlfriend. He’s always secretly wanted to…”

Barnes tells Wilson what he’s secretly always wanted to do in a sharp-edged voice and it sets you and Wilson to smiling - really smiling.

“Alright team,” You say. “Let’s go bag us some bad guys.”


	88. Trash Panda Wishlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I just had to write this after yesterday's Marvel-palooza (omg, y'all, that new arm has me SO happy and I cannot WAIT for TFATWS and Loki. CAN. NOT. WAIT.)
> 
> I have no excuses for what you're about to read lol

“It’s not going to be shiny as fuck, right?” Bucky Barnes asks anxiously. “Just...they’re going to use…”

“The dark, matte vibranium.” Wilson confirms. “Yep. We got it.”

Barnes nods, but it’s a nervous, uncertain thing. "Good. Can't be an effective...sniper...if I've got a bright, reflective arm."

He looks like a puppy waiting for the kick.

“Would cheese help?” You ask the wide-eyed ex-assassin sitting on the gurney before you, and receive a measure of satisfaction as those eyes narrow on you with a familiar kind of look. “I mean, I’m not sure what pre-procedure pairings go best with the occasion. Is it a smokey gouda or maybe a really sharp cheddar? Maybe a havarti? What kind of cheese is warranted for an upgrade?”

Wilson stifles a laugh long enough to glare daggers at the tech who is heading your way and you watch the tech do an abrupt turn-about.

You’ve done some of your best work there, you think. Mutual distrust and dislike between Wilson and Barnes turned into antagonistic friendship in the face of a greater enemy: your sanity.

And now here we all are, you muse. Standing in the pre-procedure room waiting for Barnes to give the okay to put him under so he can get his new arm.

Unfortunately, he’s about two shades from pass-out, and looking a little green with it.

“You’re going to find out who stole my arm, right?” 

“Already on it.” You promise. You already have a suspect list, and it’s a short one. As in, there’s only one name on it. 

Especially given the ‘call’ you’d gotten from upstate New York the day before, and how Clint’s hearing aids had been stolen too.

“Are we ready?” Shuri joins your little band with her signature bright smile. “This upgrade is long overdue, Sergeant Barnes.”

Barnes visibly begins to relax as Shuri draws him into chatter about Wakanda - apparently the goats are all getting on very well - and you feel one of the bands around your chest loosen with him. 

You’re going to kill Rocket for this stupid stunt, you decide. The Avengers are yours - and you hate seeing them made vulnerable by asshole trash pandas from outer space who don’t know when to quit.

“Well then, are we ready?” Shuri asks and Barnes nods, though the tension in his body as he lays back makes it a lie.

“Hey,” You say, squeezing his hand in your own. “I solemnly swear to not let Wilson redecorate your room until you’re fully sedated. And I won’t let Nat play with your knives. And I won't let Barton draw a dick on your face.”

“And you’ll keep Stevie out of too much trouble?”

You scoff. “What do I look like, a miracle worker?” You nod as Shuri moves to the IV, careful to stay in Barnes’ sight. “But yeah, I’ll keep him from jumping out of an airplane or replying to the President on Twitter.” You miss the look Shuri and Wilson trade as your voice softens. “We’ll all be here when you wake up, Barnes. Promise.”

Barnes lets out a big exhale, then nods at Shuri. "Okay. Let's do this."

You stay there until he's out, and give his hand one quick squeeze for luck, even though he's under and can't feel it, and then step back so Shuri's team can get to work.

"So...you know who stole his arm?" Wilson folds his arms over his chest.

You nod. "Oh yeah."

"You need back up?"

"Nope."

"Hey buddy," You say and have the distinct pleasure of watching Rocket jump in surprise as he steps back onto the ship. "I think you have something of mine."

"Awww, c'mon, y/n. It was all in good fun."

You let your eyebrows do the talking and the raccoon's shoulder slump.

"You're a freaking killjoy, you know that?" He says as you wheel Xavier's chair towards the ramp, Barnes' arm in the seat, and Hawkeye's hearing aids in a small case next to it. 

"Professionally." You agree. "Stop stealing shit from superheroes, Rock. And say 'hi' to Groot for me."

"Yeah yeah." Rocket waves you off. "I gotta go pick him up anyway. Been scaring loggers in the Amazon for the last two weeks. Having a good time. He misses you, y'know."

You pause at the bottom of the ramp. "I miss you guys too, Rocket."

"You can always come back." He actually scuffs one foot. "There's still that big wide universe out there."

You look down at the shiny, reflective arm, and then back at Rocket. "Nah. I'm...I'm good where I am right now. But thanks."


	89. Stewart or McAvoy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Working from home is problematic in that it removes all barriers for self control when it comes to 'oooh, I wanna write this'

“Who’s the creepy, bald, heaven’s gate looking motherfucker?” Bucky asks Sam.

They’re in the atrium of the Tower, watching you greet a man in a wheelchair and his...well, entourage seems like the right word for the small group ranged protectively around him.

“It’s either Stewart or McAvoy,” Wade Wilson appears like a magic trick on Bucky’s other side. “Hard to tell from this distance…And from this timeline...so confusing.”

Sam gives Wade a hard stare. “One of these days…”

The red suited asshole shrugs. “Fine, fine. But, ah, I’d work on cleaning up that pottymouth. Or potty brain. Given that Charles Xavier over there can read minds.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah. Good one.”

“It’s cute that you think I’m joking.” Even though the mask is covering Wade’s face, Bucky can hear the smile in his voice. “For reals though. Man’s like, the strongest telepath in the world. And then some. Good luck not thinking about whatever it is you don’t want someone to know, boys.” 

And with a slap on the back, he takes off.

Bucky slides Sam a look. Wade couldn’t possibly be telling the truth, right?

“I think we should…”

“Go do that thing. In the place. That isn’t here.” Bucky agrees.


	90. Bring Your Father To Work Day

“We have a problem.”

“Hold on. I’m not drunk enough to hear this yet.” You’d just cracked open a cold one - your Friday night ritual when you were actually home and the world isn't in peril and your charges are safe and sound on Tower grounds.

“You’re...Put that down. Look, Wanda and Pietro’s dad is downstairs.” At your stare, Hill nods. “Oh yes. He’s here. In person.”

“Where’s Barnes? And Stark?” The beer is forgotten - though mourned- as you break into a run for the elevator, Hill falling step alongside you. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Stark are both in the lobby.”

The words that come out of your mouth would make a naval officer blush, and that's before you start cycling through the other languages you know words in. Hill just chuckles as you continue to mutter and the floors flash by.

The doors open into chaos.

“A man in a metal suit,” Magneto says impassively as Tony’s suit punches himself in the face repeatedly. “Should know better.”

You skid to a stop a few feet away, cast a quick glance at the Maximoff twins. Pietro is smirking, and Wanda...Wanda just looks embarrassed.

Your eyes move quickly around the room, taking in the terrified tourists and staff and Barnes, stuck to the coffee cart machine, and Wilson, wings stuck to a support beam.

“Idiots.” You growl under your breath. “Bunch of fucking idiots.”

“Y/n!” Stark shouts “Help!”

Magneto partially turns to glance at you. “You’re going to try and stop me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sure they earned it. Being morons, I’m inclined to let you have some fun.” You let your eyes drift pointedly to the frightened civilians present, then his children. “But maybe this isn’t the time or the place?”

“Dad…” Wanda’s tone is done-over shades of teenage angst. “Please stop embarrassing us in front of our coworkers.”

“I’m good,” Pietro adds. “Don’t stop on my account.”


	91. Hot Tub Time Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Canonically, Hot Tub Time Machine exists in the MCU, so I present to you this tiny hc...

“I don’t see it.” You confess to Maria, the pair of you with your heads bent over the tablet with great interest. “Honest.”

“Wha- We need to get your eyes checked.” Hill scoffs, her eyes flicking up to see him, paused in the doorway because, yeah, there’s supposed to be a briefing, but he doesn’t want to be alone with the pair of you if he doesn’t have to be.

Sam Wilson is smarter than that, thank you very much.

“Sam,” Hill smiles at him and he feels the jaws of the trap closing. “What do you think?”

Damn. So much for that plan.

He moves begrudgingly closer so you can show him the picture on the screen. “Barnes got a hair cut?”

“It’s not Barnes.” You shake your head.

Sam quirks an eyebrow at Hill, who nods. “Then who is it?”

He’s expecting a shapeshifter or veiling tech or something...well,  _ something _ . What he doesn’t expect is…

“He’s an actor.” Hill is grinning now. “He’s in this movie Nat and I watched last weekend called ‘Hot Tub Time Machine’. And,” She adds with a pointed snark your way. “He looks exactly like a grumpy former assassin we know.”

“I still don’t see it.” Your mouth is set in a mulish line that he knows from experience isn't going to budge.

Sam looks down at the tablet, then up at your face, then down at the picture again. 

The actor looks exactly like Bucky.

The half-smile at the edges of Maria’s mouth tell Sam he’s not alone in his amusement over your inability to see it.

“How, exactly,” He says, not bothering to hide his grin. “Is that not Bucky’s long lost twin?”

You scowl at him, and Hill, and the picture. “It’s just...not. Around the eyes. And the jaw.”

Maria laughs, catches it and waves you off. “No, no. You know what...maybe you’re right. My bad.”

The fact that you scowl - narrow eyed and considering - at Barnes throughout the briefing just puts the cherry on top.

"I didn't even do anything," Bucky whines afterwards, when you and Hill have left the room.

"You want to try that one again?" Barton asks. " 'Cus I'm pretty sure I saw you replace her gourmet coffee stash with decaf..."

"You have a death wish, Barnes." Stark scoffs. "A serious death wish."


	92. Go Big At Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I fully recognize that not everyone celebrates Christmas (and personally, as cheerful atheist, I don't either), but this wrote itself today while the roomie decked out the living room and baked cinnamon rolls

“Stark…” You stare at the living room, unable to conceal your shock. “What did you do?”

Stark shrugs. “I like to go big or go home. Or in this case, go big  _ at _ home.”

The interior of the main level looks like the Christmas Spirit came down with a bad case of influenza or blood alcohol poisoning - there isn’t a single surface that isn’t covered in red, green, gold, or silver.

It is, without exception, the tackiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

And considering who you spend your days running after and cleaning up for, that’s saying something.

But it isn’t what you’re really staring at.

Oh no. It’s the  _ gifts _ .

Parker is half buried under a teddy bear the size of the Big Guy, giggling, despite the fact that he could easily lift it off of him. Wanda and Pepper are on the couch, glasses of red in hand as they gaze on, soft amusement on their faces with Parker’s antics. Pepper's wrist glints with the metallic sheen of a bracelet you'd seen on Stark's workbench last week.

Banner is grinning - honest to god grinning - in front of some kind of scientific apparatus you’re certain he’s been lusting over from afar for a while. You’re equally certain it’s something from your no-fly list for the lab...

Barnes and Rogers have two absolutely giant trunks - one in front each of them - with labels for ‘Food Time Capsule’ stamped on the sides and packaged goodies all but spilling out.

Rogers is holding a jar, reading the side of it. “Marshmallow fluff?”

“What do you put this on?” Barnes asks, opening his own and swiping some out and tasting it. You watch his eyes go wide. “Doesn’t matter. I’m putting it on everything.”

"Wait wait wait," Wilson is saying, with Pietro and Wade listening earnestly. "Hear me out. It's like mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you _fight_."

Pietro shrugs. "Mistlefoe."

Both Wilson's give him an appreciative look.

"Someone's halls are getting de-cked." Wade sings off-key and then spots you. "Y/n! You're here! You gotta try the 'nog!"


	93. Decaf Death Vow

It's been a long couple of days in the Tower, and the only thing that's got you up and out of bed this morning is the knowledge that your specialty coffee blend will be waiting for you to rise and grind.

Your sister sends you beans from her local roaster, and you'd never tell anyone this, but no roaster in the tri-state area hits that kind of high note.

You can make the coffee without having to really think about it - thank goodness, because one of life's little ironies is you have to wake up to make the magic bean juice that wakes you up.

You're reviewing the day's schedule when Rogers comes back from his morning run, Wilson in tow and you raise a mug in lieu of words.

Wilson's eyes go wide as you bring the cup of manna to your mouth "Wait, y/n-"

The second it hits your mouth, you spit it out, spewing not-coffee everywhere.

Wilson and Rogers are frozen, faces panicked.

You grab paper towels and start wiping up. "Tell Barnes he's a dead man. Do you hear me? Dead."


	94. Wasabi Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So for those of you who don't know what Nair is - it's a hair removing liquid-substance

You can hear the shout of surprise from the living room and you smile as Nat quirks an eyebrow in your direction. You shake your head and hide your grin in your coffee mug, which is full of actual coffee.

Fourteen seconds later, Nat lets out a sound somewhere between a cackle and a howl as she glances over your shoulder.

You half-twist and send Barnes a harmless-innocent look. "Everything okay there, Sarge?"

Nat is still laughing as Barnes sends you a look that should leave you a smoking crater on the couch. It's impressive, as Barnes' glares go. He's definitely been practicing.

The only problem is that it's hard to look intimidating when he's half-covered in soapy suds, a soaked towel, and nothing else. He resembles a half-drowned cat more than the Winter Soldier, and it's taking a lot of effort on your part to keep a straight face as he hisses at you, shaking a lime green toothbrush in your direction with something approaching real malice.

"What did you do to the toothpaste?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"This is for the coffee thing, isn't it?" 

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?" You query sweetly and he turns to go. "And Barnes? Consider this getting off with a warning. Next time I won't put wasabi flavored cream cheese in your toothpaste tube-" A strangled noise from Nat's direction. "I'll put Nair in your conditioner."

Those ice blue eyes narrow on you. "You wouldn't."

You shrug. "Hopefully I don't have to."

He watches you for a moment more, gauging, weighing your words with your tone. "You wouldn't," He says, less certainly.

"Barnes, how important is your hair to you?" Now it's your turn to ask the questions you already know the answer to. "And sure, it'll grow back...eventually..."

"I hate you."

"I know. I can live with it." You level him a less-than-friendly smile this time. "So long as no one fucks with my coffee."

There's a long moment of considering silence before he nods. "No one fucks with the coffee."

And then the Winter Soldier turns on his heels and goes to leave.

Which is the exact moment his foot happens to slide right through the puddle of water he's created, and like something out a Three Stooges set, his arms pinwheel, and he crashes to the floor with the kind of thud that's going to bring the other members of your merry little band a-running.

This time you join Nat in laughing as Barnes just lays there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

"God, I hate you." He says with feeling.


	95. Doing It On Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: little bit of a time skip back towards the beginning of you working with the Avengers

“How’s Barnes coming along?” Fury asks, leveling a look at you as Goose climbs into your lap and begins kneading your thighs. “I’ve heard he’s...well, our boy has definitely developed a personality.” Fury leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “Getting a reputation for causing trouble, way I hear it.”

It’s about six months into your new assignment, and while you certainly wouldn’t say you’ve settled into a routine, you’d like to think you’re getting the hang of it.

You oblige Goose by scratching at his chin, then behind the ears and the Flerkin curls up atop your legs and begins purring as you continue to pet him. “It’s a good sign.”

“We don’t do ‘signs’ here, y/n.”

“I mean,” You roll your eyes. “I’d be way more worried at this point if he wasn’t acting out.”

Fury gestures for you to continue.

“It’s like having a teenager.” You say and cover a laugh with a cough as Fury flinches. “The fact that he feels...comfortable enough to push boundaries, testing limits...it means on some level he feels safe enough, whole enough, to try it. And my patience.” You add with a wry smile.

“But if he’s antagonizing his teammates…”

“Sir,” You cut him off. “You took six people whose egos can’t possibly fit in the same room together - deservedly or otherwise - and made them a team. Antagonizing is literally how they show affection. Teenagers,” You remind him. “Minus only some of the hormones, and most of the acne.”

"So long as they're home by curfew..."

"Exactly." You nod.

Fury takes a moment and the office is filled with the freight-train rumble of Goose's contented purring. "What about this...thing...with Wilson?"

You snort. "Barnes ought to have a syndrome named after him. Adopt-A-Righteous-Asshole-Itis." You roll your eyes and dislodge Goose gently before pushing to your feet. "If that's all..."

"Look, y/n, you know as well as I do that Wilson is...special."

"He'll replace Steve." You shrug under Fury's gaze. "What? You think you tapped me for this job cause I'm slow on the uptake? Wilson's basically a clone of Rogers. He's a natural choice for the job. Consider Barnes relationship with Wilson as another stamp of approval."


	96. I Am Groot

The alert comes through on your private comms and you smile when you see Rocket’s id pop up on the display.

“Barton, you mind taking the helm?” You ask your copilot and he nods as you switch over the controls.

The mission had gone well and the rest of the team was engaging in the usual post-rush banter in the belly of the quinjet now that weapons had been cleaned and stowed. Wilson whistled as you left the cockpit behind, drawing your eyes up from the screen. “Who’s  _ that _ little smile for?” He teases. “Thought you and Reindeer Games were  _ cooling down  _ these days.”

“It’s not Loki,” You confirm, and put in your headphones so you can take the call. “And you're not as funny as you think, Wilson. Go for y/n.”

“Heya Terran. Any chance you can do a friend a favor?” Rocket asks.

“Is that gunfire?” You’re distantly aware of the conversation around you dying at your tone. “Goddamn it, trash panda, what did you get into now?”

“‘trash panda’?” Rogers mouths and you wave him off.

Nat’s hands go up. “I am not gonna tell y/n what pet names she can and can’t use.”

“Remember how Groot’s been having fun with the loggers? Fun’s over. Could really use a pick up.” You can hear the strain in his voice. “Already sent you the coordinates.”

“Goddamnit, Rock.” You’re already moving back to the cockpit, taking control back and entering the new coordinates before shouting over your shoulder. “Buckle up, Buttercups!”

“Stay here,” You order Earth’s Mightiest Heroes as Barton finishes landing the quinjet. “I’ll be back, with company, in ten minutes.”

“At least let one of us come with you.” Rogers tries to reason.

“And let one of you start an international incident? I think not.” Barnes hands you an extra knife without another word. “Thanks.”

And then you run down the ramp and into the jungle.

Eight minutes later, you hustle back into the clearing, Groot behind you, and Rocket clinging to your shoulder as he fires shots at the armed loggers in the distance.

“Don’t shoot!” You shout, barely breaking stride as you run up the ramp. “Barton, get us in the air and cloaked!”

Thank god Barton’s having one of his more mature moments because the ramp closes behind Groot and the engines thrum through the jet, and thirty seconds later you can relax as the altitude climb levels out.

Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are staring.

“These are the idiots you left us for?” Rocket growls, clambering down and checking over Groot with care, despite the brusque tone of voice. “Color me unimpressed.”

“I object to that characterization.” Stark’s mouth isn’t frozen. “Uh, quick question. What the hell?”

“Avengers, Groot and Rocket. Rocket and Groot, Avengers.”

“I am Groot.”

“Groot!” You and Rocket chide simultaneously.

“Language.” You add.

“I second Tony’s question.” Wilson says as you do a quick check of yourself, hissing as you find a laceration that managed to slice through the tac gear on your shoulder. “And raise it a ‘what the fuck?’” He pauses. “Well, at least the 'trash panda' thing makes sense.”

“Groot and Rocket are friends of mine.” You shrug, and wince as the motion pulls the fabric across the cut.

Wordlessly, Barnes hands you the first aid kit, and you set it on the seat next to you as you start to unzip your tac suit, hissing at the pull of fabric caused by more motion.

"Stop it." Barnes' tone is serious and he bats your hands away from the zipper. "Just...jesus, let someone else help you."

"Thanks." You say as he slides the zipper down, maintaining eye contact the whole way and something in your belly jumps as Rocket steps between the two of you and shoos Barnes back.

“There’s a talking tree and raccoon.” Nat nudges Rogers. “And here I thought you were one of the weirder things science made.”

“Sit down, y/n.” Rocket badgers you, and you sigh as you do so. “Lemme look at that, you reckless little human.”

“I wasn’t reckless - it’s probably from a ricochet.” You try to bite back another hiss as you peel back layers of tac gear and clothing to expose the cut in full. “From one of your wild-west shots, no doubt. I never should have let you watch Rambo...”

“Is someone going to explain what’s happening?” Rogers asks.

“I am Groot.” Groot offers helpfully.

Rogers blinks. “I am Steve Rogers.”

You laugh, then hiss again as Rocket pulls a two inch piece of hardwood from your shoulder. “Mother _ fucker. _ ”

“Quit your whining you big baby.” Rocket’s tiny paws are already pouring disinfectant on the wound as you continue to swear. “This is nothing. Remember that scratch you got on Traxxl with that Herbanian Night Beast?”

“ ‘ Tis but a flesh wound.” You quip as he pats the adhesive edges of a bandage into place. “Thanks, Rock.”

“Still waiting for information over here.” 

You fix Stark with a level look and he grins unrepentantly. “Rocket?”

“We’re from outer space.” Rocket says, as Groot sinks down into the seat next to you. “I’m the best escape artist in the universe, thank you very much. And Groot, well, he’s Groot.”

“I am Groot.” Groot confirms.

“And you met....”

Rocket looks at you and you shrug. “We’re part of y/n’s old crew. Before she decided to retire.”

You drop your head into your hands as the questions wash over you.

“Retire?”

“In outer space?”

“Pipe down!” You shout, fixing Rocket with a glare. “That was a ‘tell them nothing’ shrug, you ungrateful rodent.”

Rocket’s tone is as insincere as any of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ versions. “It’s been so long, I must have forgotten.”

You and Nat snort simultaneously, and you give her a quick smile before sliding your arm back into the tac suit with care. “Okay. I’m only doing this once, so anyone who wants to hear it better shut up and keep their questions to themselves.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Barton shouts from the cockpit as he engages the autopilot before spinning the chair. “Okay, now we’re good.”

“You’ve already heard this story.” You remind him.

Barton meets the stares of the rest of the team with a cheeky grin as he stretches out his legs and folds his arms back behind his head. “So? It’s still story-time and I refuse to be left out.”

Your eyes roll of their own accord. “Alright. Yes, I’ve been off-world. After the academy, after my first tour with the S.T.R.I.K.E. teams. I got tapped for a special assignment - that’s how Groot and Rocket and I met - and after a couple years bopping around the universe, I decided it was time to put down roots and take it easy.”

“I want it on record that you just said keeping us in line is ‘easy’.” Nat’s smile says she’s laughing inside as the rest of the team processes. 

Stark’s hand shoots up. “What were you doing out there that makes us your retirement gig?”

“And I still wanna know just what he is,” Barnes says, jerking his chin at Rocket.

“Love the new arm.” Rocket shoots back and Barnes’ eyes narrow.

Oh no.

“ _You_ stole my arm?”

Rocket shrugs. “I needed it.” He levels an inspecting look at the new one. "Looks like you got a decent upgrade there..."

It takes the combined weight of Rogers and Wilson to hold Barnes back, and Rocket scrambles back towards you, as if your mere presence will protect him.

“Oh no,” You say, shaking your head. “You are on your own with that one.”


	97. You Can Take The 'Sass' Out of Assassin

"Could you not refer to it as that?" You ask.

All three former assassins stare at you with the exact same expression.

You sigh and resist the urge to rub at your eyes.

The four of you have been set up in the hotel room for the last three days and it's been...educational...to say the least.

For example, you know now that Barnes won't sleep unless you or Nat is awake. You also know that Barton is almost as aggressive at cuddling as Rogers. And Nat likes to sing creepy Russian lullabyes in the morning and the shower.

She also will use all the hot water since the hotel doesn't have the benefit the energy-efficient systems of the Tower.

But mostly? Mostly you've been privy to so much assassin's shop-talk, you're certain you'll never unhear it.

You have learned more about how all three of their brains work in the last ninety six hours than you have in the last nine months combined.

It's been enlightening.

It's going to help you so. much.

But this one thing...this one thing has to change as you all sit and monitor the multiple screens set up throughout the resort that are allowing you to watch the comings and goings of the crime syndicates meeting here this week.

"What else are we supposed to call it?" Nat finally asks.

"An elevator?" You suggest.

The look your suggestion receives is the same blank look your sisters' cat gives you when you scold it for bringing you dead things - uncomprehending blankness.

"It's a box." Barton points out, not unkindly.

"Yes. I can see that."

"The person in it is incredibly vulnerable to attack. Limited avenues to escape or deflect." Nat points out.

"I'm not saying they aren't." You're going to grind your molars to dust at this rate. "I'm just saying, could we call it something other than...that?"

"It's a kill-box." Barnes throws his hands up. "It's a box, in which one can be easily killed. What is hard to understand about it?"

You slouch in your seat and admit defeat. "Forget I brought it up."

You make a note to forever take the stairs from now on.


	98. What's A Little Arson?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hey all, gonna try and write a little each day this week. If you have the energy to comment, it would be *super appreciated* because I'm a ho for comments (for reals tho)
> 
> Also, How To Play Chubby Bunny  
> \- Choose your food item (ex: marshmallows, grapes, oreos...)  
> \- Players put one at a time in their mouth, saying 'chubby bunny' after each, back and forth until you can't say 'chubby bunny' or until someone drops/chews the food item

“Why is arson always your first answer?” You scold and your counterpart flashes you a grin so wide the Cheshire Cat would die of envy as you finish wiping soot from your hands.

“You had fun,” She says as the pair of you watch the warehouse burn across the river, leaning against the body of her classic car. “Admit it. It’s like old times again, isn’t it?”

You laugh at that. “All we need is-” Your eyes widen as she reaches into the rolled down window and pulls out the bag with its familiar colors. “You didn’t!”

She tears the bag and you’re both grinning now as she pops a puffy, fat, cheap marshmallow into her mouth and waggles her eyebrows at you. “We could really go for old school and play ‘chubby bunny’.”

The memories have you snorting even as you pull your own marshmallow from the bag. “God, those were simpler times, weren’t they?”

“Mhmm.” She agrees, and for a few minutes, it’s just quiet contemplation while you watch the flames dance into the night, reflecting on the water like a kaleidoscope mirage.

“So…” You start. “You gonna tell me what had you needing to light something spectacularly ablaze on an unseasonably warm Tuesday?”

She shrugs, and you nudge her with your own shoulder, making no move away from her at her scowl. “Leave it, y/n.”

“Nope. Sorry. Against the code.”

“The Code-”

“Not that Code.” You roll your eyes. “The best friends’ code, idiot. Something’s clearly eating at you. That’s exactly what I’m here for - listen to you vent, then help you come up with a plan.” You narrow your eyes on her. “Is this about the fake-dating thing?”

“What?” She yelps. “No.”

“Liar liar, warehouse on fire…” You drape an arm over her shoulders. “C’mon. You know you wanna tell me…”

She huffs, but you can tell she’s going to cave. “Okay. So maybe I’m getting a little tired of him always being your escort-” You laugh, then choke it back. “To all these events.”

“You do know he spends most of the night sneaking glances at you, right?” You can’t help the smug satisfaction in your voice. “It’s adorable. Really.”

“Shuddup.” She shoves you rudely with her shoulder now and grabs another marshmallow. “Will you please stop fake dating him so he can actually ask me out already?”

“Okay.” You agree. “The fake dating schtick was wearing a little thin anyway. There's only so many jokes you can make about an ice giant before his ego starts to actually deflate.” You shrug and pop another marshmallow into your mouth. “Fake breakup though? Could be fun…”

“I am still amazed you got pulled over to the other side. You live for the chaos, y/n, admit it.”

You shrug. "You're not wrong."

"Did you ever think you'd end up here? Back in training? You, working on the side of the angels?"

“Heroes,” You tell her sagely “Have twice as much chaos as villains.”

“That’s probably true.” She admits and you both lean back against the car again, comfortable as you watch the fire department finally arrive and begin to go to work. She sighs. “So pretty.”


	99. Fake Vacation Fiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: More fake dating trope! Because the world is...ugh...this week
> 
> Also, feed your local fanfic writer with comments (when you have the energy to do so, naturally) - but not after midnight 😉

“I distinctly recall being promised,” You growl into the mic. “That I would not have to play fake girlfriend again.”

“Nat’s cover is an established lesbian.” Barton points out. “And Maria is too recognizable from D.C.”

"And technically," Wilson adds. "You're not a girlfriend. You're a fiance. It's an upgrade."

You sigh and stir your drink at the swim up bar. “You all are enjoying this way too much.”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Bet your swee-omph.” That last one cut short by what sounds like an elbow to gut from the room where the boys are shacked up on surveillance detail at this resort.

“I think what Barnes meant to say is that he’s deeply sorry he wasn’t able to assist this time.” Stark’s amusement comes through loud and clear. “But hey, at least the drinks are free and the weather is nice?”

“There you are.” Nat joins you at the bar, smile making it clear she’s heard the whole exchange as she plants a peck on your cheek and Wilson hoots in your ear. “Miss me?”

“Immeasurably.” 

“I’m sorry for working on our holiday.” Nat flags the bartender, orders two shots of tequila. “Let me make it up to you?”

To the unsuspecting eye, you’re a pair of lovebirds on holiday. Well, _you_ are. Nat’s cover is in an international art thief, and it’s a working kind of holiday. But the way she purrs the words at you has some uncomfortable shuffling and breathing sounds coming through the comms, and as her smile turns a touch wicked you realize it’s not an unintentional thing.

“What did you have in mind, darling?” You purr right back, leaning in to her.

Her fingers tip-tap their way along the bar, then your hand, up your arm and your shiver isn’t entirely feigned as she winds a strand of hair around one coy finger. “Well, it starts with us heading back to our room...and stops somewhere around the time where you’re screaming my name.”

Rogers chokes and Wilson laughs.

“Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you, Romanov?” Barnes grouches as Nat leans in closer, and wow, you have got to stop forgetting how pretty the people you work with are because her lips are plump and right there with her all-too delicate chin that’s just begging for your hands to tip up ever so slightly, and she’s looking at you with the kind of heat in her eyes that sends a good kind of chill right through you…

“Jealous, Barnes?” Nat whispers, leaning in closer still and her lips are half a brush from yours. You belatedly remember that Nat and Barnes had a casual friends-with-benes arrangement a while back. “You should be.”

And then she presses those pillowed lips to your own and the line from the room goes dead silent and for a hot second, so does your brain.

Hey, you might be a badass at what you do. You’re not dead though, and regardless of what Earth’s Mightiest Assumers might mistakenly believe, you definitely haven’t been getting any lately. Something your libidio is all-too-eager to remind you in the half-second when Nat’s lips touch yours.

But it’s clinical, dispassionate and as her eyes flutter open and she pulls away, tucking a strand behind your ear, she whispers. “Target’s coming over.”

The smile you send her is happy and flirty and you laugh as if she’s said something cute. “Baby, you’re so  _ bad. _ ”

“Mmm..” She nuzzles your neck boldly as the black market dealer joins you both at the bar. “It’s part of why you love me.”

“True.” Lying with the truth is easy, and makes both your smiles genuine as Nat turns.

“Sergei, this is my little dove.”

“Charming.” Sergei’s an older man with a bit of a tire around the middle, but there’s genuine fondness in his expression as he looks at Nat. “I’m so pleased for you, little bird. How did the two of you meet?”

“I stole her from another life.” Nat tells him in a conspiratorial tone and Sergei lets out a belly-laugh. “Well, now that we’ve talked shop, I have to insist you both join me for dinner. I have one of the private cabins down the beach - you can’t beat the view for sunset and you know Evelyn will insist on spending some time with you, and your lovely little dove.”

“I’d planned on a more...intimate evening for us.” Nat’s wicked confession amuses Sergei and he makes to back away, hands up in defeat, and now it’s your turn.

“Baby, I never get to meet any of your friends.” You pout before you turn to Sergei. “Will you tell me stories about her?”

Sergei chuckles like an indulgent uncle. “Who am I to deny such a request? Say seven? Cabin twelve.”

You and Nat both nod and he takes his leave of you as you close out your tab at the bar before snagging a pair of towels and making your way back into the resort.

“Still breathing, boys?” Nat asks as you two ride the elevator back up.

“I’m torn between jokes about faking it and Brittney.” Wilson confesses as the elevator doors open and Nat trails you to the room you two are sharing. “The possibilities…”

You tell him what you’ll do to him before those possibilities as you open the door and Nat shuts it behind her on his easy laugh as the door adjoining your room to the boys’ opens.

“You’d need weapons to do half of that.” Stark observes, giving a pointed look to your sex-kitten swimsuit before paling at the knife that’s magically made it’s way to your hands. “Well where the hell were you hiding that?”

Nat’s hand caresses your shoulder in an intimate echo of her touch earlier. “Stark, come on. You don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

“But I do wanna know.” Stark frowns not so much at you as at your suit. “I mean, there isn’t anywhere to hide it…”

“Take a picture.” You tell him as he continues to stare. “It’ll last longer. I’ve gotta shower off the chlorine before dinner...”

“Someone remind me why dinner with Sergei is worthy of an Avengers level mission?” Rogers asks. “Not that I’m against taking out black market fences…”

You and Nat exchange eye rolls as she towels her damp hair.

“Sergei isn’t the target.” You remind the team. “Evelyn is.” At their blank looks you scowl. “Didn’t anyone read the briefing?”

You’re met with casual shrugs and you can’t help but stare at them incredulously.

“Evelyn Somers is the world’s pre-eminent designer of tailored biological weapons.” Everyone turns to look at Barton, who shrugs. “I read the briefing. Also, not my first brush with her.” He levels you and Nat with a look. “Watch yourselves tonight. Evelyn is a sharp bitch.”

“Aww, Papa Barton getting worried.” Nat teases as you grab a change of clothes and head for the shower because ugh, your skin really is starting to itch from the chlorine. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of my little dove.”


	100. Where Does the 'Ex' Go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Well, holy hell, here we are - 100 chapters of wrangling! Thank you for reading, commenting, kudosing! I would not have made it this far without y'all. Seriously 🥰
> 
> I have no intention of stopping anytime soon
> 
> As always, unbeta-ed and I have no excuses

“Okay,” Wilson dropped onto the couch next to you without any warning and but for the grace of Asgard you managed to not spill your coffee all over yourself as you spooked. “Tell me you see it.”

“Uhh…” You blinked, tried to will your brain to catch up, and came up blank. “See what?”

“The way the new agent looks at Steve.”

“Oh.” You rolled your eyes. “That.”

“I’m serious, y/n. Barnes has noticed, and I think he’s about five minutes away from interrogating the guy in some really...uh, the word I wanna use is 'creative'...ways.” He narrows his eyes at you as you take a sip of your life-giving elixir. “You’re smiling. This is a thing we’re smiling at. Why?”

“Agent Regin may have misheard a key piece of information that I saw no need to correct.” Though if Barnes is about to go Winter Soldier on the new agent for looking at his bestie with heart eyes and hero worship - more than the usual anyway - maybe you  _ do _ need to explain things to Agent Regin...

“Go on…”

“Well,” You fold your legs up under you. “Nat was explaining that Steve and Peggy Carter had a thing back in the forties and how Steve is the Ex-Director’s boyfriend. But what Regin heard was ‘the Director’s Ex-Boyfriend’.” It has you smiling all over again. “And we kinda just...let him...make his own assumptions from there.”

“So the way he stares at Steve…” Wilson puts the pieces together fast. “He thinks Rogers and Fury dated. And Steve broke up with him.” He whistles. “I mean, if that was what I thought, I’d be impressed too.”

“Right?” You agree. “Nat and I have a bet on it. How long he can go without Steve or Fury bursting the bubble.”

Wilson gives you a bit of side eye. “What’s the buy in?”

“Twenty bucks.”

“No giving it away, obviously.”

“Of course.” You demur into your mug as Wilson thinks it over. “And run interference when someone else is about to.”

“I give it...three more days.” Wilson’s body relaxes considerably now that he knows what's going on. “But you have to tell Barnes. My boy is seriously about to poke holes in your new agent. He was cleaning his knife collect-”

Wilson’s laugh trails behind you as you stand and walk quickly for the hallway.

You knock on Barnes’ door once, twice. You’re lifting your hand for a third round when the door opens.

“What?” Bucky Barnes all but growls at you, wrenching the door open before taking in your appearance. “What is with you and cartoon food on your pajama pants? French fries? Really?” He shakes his head. "Nevermind. Go away. I'm busy."

“Cleaning your knife collection. I know. Wilson told me. Don’t stab Agent Regin.” You hold up a finger to silence him as he goes to open his mouth. “No, not even a little bit. I’ll tell you what’s going on, but you can’t ruin this for me, Barnes.”

He pushes your hand away, scowl still firmly fixed on his face. “I wasn’t planning on stabbing anyone.” The confusion is clear on his face.

_ Wilson _ , you think. The damn man is getting a better sense of how to push your buttons than you’d like...

“Baby,” A voice calls from the depths of Barnes’ room. “Come back to bed.”

Barnes goes a lovely shade of pink under your arched eyebrow and mouthed ‘baby?’ as he tries to shrug casually and calls over his shoulder, “Be right there.”

“So I should, ah, take you off the on call roster for a day or so?” You’re going to hell for how much you’re enjoying watching him squirm right now. Yep. Definitely going to hell. “Use your words, Barnes. Words are important. Words of consent, safe words..."

“Fuck you.” He scoffs.

Your eyebrows rise. “I think that’s what your guest is waiting on you for, soldier. And don’t forget - no glove, no love!” You call as he turns and closes the door in your face. “Don't be a fool, wrap your tool!” You pause, shit-eating grin on your face and shout through the door. "You guys good in there? You need snacks or anything?"

The muffled words that travel back through the door have your smile growing, and you head back for the common space.

Now.

Time to deal with Wilson...


	101. Guys Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: a/n: Thanks to Littlecorinthian for this plot bunny that just...wouldn't leave me alone...

It is damn good to be an Avenger, Sam Wilson reflects from his spot soaring over the city thermals, testing out some Stark upgrades to the EXO-wings and putting Redwing through her paces.

Stark is hovering nearby - wanted to see it in action - and War Machine, yes, THE War Machine is hanging out too and Sam tried so freaking hard not to fangirl but  Colonel James Rupert " Rhodey " Rhodes has been a hero of his for a long time, and he may or may not have been successful at playing it cool. 

Probably not.

He really hopes you hadn’t taken a picture of him slack-jawed with awe when Rhodey had joined him and Stark on the balcony before blasting off, but he knows the odds of that are so low as to not exist in this universe.

Which reminds him...neither you or Barnes had gotten back at him yet for interrupting Barnes’...ahem, ‘playdate’...the other day.

“Do a dive!” Stark demands, frowning at the readout in one gauntleted hand. “Climb, then dive!”

An hour later, exhausted, showered, and fed, Sam flops his body onto the couch.

Steve doesn’t look up from his tablet and Sam imagines he’s up to Captain-y things, like reading up on this latest set of supposed peace accords, or planning the take down of another base. Maybe learning more about modern inventions, because that eidetic memory does come in handy in the middle of a mission when they have to MacGyver something together or apart.

You’re draped across the armchair across from Steve, doing paperwork, feet kicking idly and swinging and every-so often one of your feet brushes Bucky’s, who’s got his feet kicked up over the end of the couch, sprawled on his back with a book open over his face. Every time it happens, Barnes levels  _ a look _ at you, which is met with an insincere smile and soft ‘oops’.

He rolls his eyes. Idiots. The both of you.

“How was the test flight?” You ask, biting on the end of the stylus you’re using.

“Good.” It was. Flying one of Stark’s suits is never a hardship - the man’s a genius after all. “Did laps around those two old war dogs. What’s the rest of the crew doing?”

“Paperwork.” You frown at your own tablet, note something down. He will not say you look like an adorable college coed, he will not say you look like an adorable college coed…He values his parts too much to say that out loud... “Barnes is reading - yes, I was surprised too-”

“Bite me.” Barnes snipes daintily, not looking away from the book.

“No. No one knows where you’ve been.” You jerk your thumb over to Steve. “And Rogers won’t tell us what he’s researching, but given the look of concentration, he’s going to start annoying us all with new information soon.”

Steve flushes and all Sam’s instincts go on red alert. “No, I told you it was personal and I didn’t want to talk about it. With you.” He clarifies when you open your mouth to say something. “Definitely not you. Or Nat. Or Wanda. Or...just leave it.”

Well well, consider him intrigued enough to sit up and watch your eyebrows climb. For a moment, he thinks you’re going to say something, but after a brief pause, you shrug and unfold yourself from the armchair. “Suit yourself, Rogers. I’ve got Girls’ Night to get ready for. You three -” You fix each of them with a classic glare. “Behave.”

Sam watches you go, turns back to the room in time to catch Barnes’ gaze following you too, and Sam’s shit-eating grin is rewarded with a classic Grumpy Soldier scowl.

Steve saw it too, if the small quirk of lip can be believed.

“Soooo.” Sam nods at the tablet in Steve’s hands. “Whatcha really doing?”

“You asked for it.” Barnes turns back to his book. “You absolutely asked for it.”

“Uh…” Steve stammers, and he turns several shades of pink. “Well, I’ve been using the internet to research...you know...stuff. Sex. Sex stuff. And I can’t really - I don’t want to bring any of it up with y/n, cause, well, she and F.R.I.D.A.Y. got pretty mad at me for the whole click-bait virus thing.”

“So? Why didn’t you ask Barnes? Or Stark?”

Steve winces. “Stark? Really? Do I have to? He’ll just...make a big deal out of ...everything. He just...acts like I’m some 1950’s farm boy...”

Sam has to admit that’s true. “But what about Winter Soldier here? He can’t pretend he isn’t up on modern sex - not with your playdates as of late. How  _ did _ y/n feel about that, Bucky?”

“I hate you.” Barnes says to him, and levels a look at Steve, whose expression has gone puppy-dog pleading. “No. I tried -  _ you _ balked. We will never speak of sex again.” He adds under his breath. "Not until you figure out how to ask questions."

“But you enjoy it, right?” Steve asks. “And based on the noises coming through the damn wall, you know what you’re doing. Why won’t you help me?”

“You’re not a virgin, Rogers, and you haven’t been since before anyone in this building was born.” Barnes’ tone is turning annoyed. “You had the French female population, Peggy Carter, the internet, and the minute you decide to make a move, you’re going to have more willing volunteers than you’re going to know what to do with.”

“But what if I have questions I don't want to type into google?” Steve scowls. “I know the women talk about stuff like this at Girls Nights, but why isn’t there a Guys Night for us?”

“Don’t eve-”

“No, no, no,” Sam jumps in. “No he’s right. We should have Guys Nights. In fact,” He glances at Steve. “What are you doing tonight?”

Barnes groans, shuts his book, and stands. “I can’t be involved in this.”

“Man, sit your grumpy ass down.” Sam is pleasantly surprised when Barnes does exactly that. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Just the guys, palling around. We’ll order pizza, drink beer, play video games, male bonding stuff…And help Rogers get his groove back.” He adds, seeing Steve about to open his mouth. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes, Agent Wilson?”

“Ping Stark and Banner and Barton. And order some pie!”

The first official Avengers Guys Night is an official success. 

There is much eating, drinking, belching, lying about sexual prowess - or at least, Sam is sure Stark and Barnes are lying about their sexual prowess - and video games.

Sam will forever cherish the memory of Steve Rogers kicking the shit out of everyone on Super Smash Bros with only Jigglypuff and giggling with laughter the entire time. He's fairly sure Stark got it on video and it's only a matter of time before it makes the rounds, complete with Barton screeching 'you were frozen when these things were made! How are you doing this?!'

Now things are winding down, and it’s time to discard the beer bottles and empty pizza boxes and call it a night. Sam is just putzing around the kitchen, tidying up because having a 'Y' chromosome does not exclude you from wanting to live in a clean place, thank you very much, when Steve comes in.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yes, Steve?” Over Steve’s shoulder, he sees Bucky shoot him a ‘gotcha’ grin.

“What are ‘furries’?”


	102. Designated Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Tumblr gets the blame for this one, you hear me? Tumblr.

There are times when Bucky Barnes really appreciates what the serum did to him, in an objective sense. 

His reflexes are amazing, he never gets colds, and he heals  _ really _ fucking fast, which has been pretty goddamn useful for the last century.

And the things he doesn’t appreciate?

Well, the idea of not really aging has barely begun to settle in, and he knows he'll feel some kind of way about it eventually. The fact that his favorite person on Earth is also a member of the enhanced-by-science club is really...it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to him, and he would be a goddamn liar if he tried to say he didn’t wake up and thank the universe that, after everything, he still had Steve. Healthy, whole, reckless as fuck, but still _Steve,_ and they have time now, finally.

The other thing he doesn't appreciate?

Not being able to get drunk. Not so much the actual  _ being _ drunk - though, yes, there are times when he would give anything to have alcohol do more than give him a slight headache - but the fact that not being able to get drunk 90% of the time means that he and Steve end up being the Designated Avengers.

All. The. Time.

Okay, he’ll admit, it’s not  _ that _ often because usually you put the kibosh on that kind of nonsense before it really gets going.

But tonight? Tonight he’d really like it if he could be drunk, instead of responding to an urgent call from Pepper that his designated driver skills were needed at a seedy pool hall that is  _ definitely  _ responsible for the spread of some kind of communicable disease. Like Hepatitis. Or Chlamydia.

Seriously. What a dive.

Why?

Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes has seen you drunk.

Not tipsy, not loose. 

Drunk.

He and Steve had to physically carry you and Barton out of the pool hall, and the most efficient way to do so had been to swing you over his shoulder, which you were now trying to turn into one of Nat’s signature thighs-around-the-neck takedowns.

“Doll, you are way too drunk for this to work.” 

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You swore, before finally relenting and folding like a wet noodle over his shoulder with a sloppy hiccup. “I’m not… I’m not… Hang on where’s Clint?”

It’s a fair question and you curse as Bucky turns to see Steve, five paces behind them, scowling at Barton, also slung over his shoulder. “Quit hitting me, Clint, you’re not being kidnapped.”


	103. The Other Man With A Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Y'all....All I want for Christmas is to vanish into a pocket dimension in which I can crank on these snippets/chapters that are languishing half-written in my running AW document

“I can uninvite him.” Stark says as you open your door. “Seriously. I don’t care if Pepper says it’s rude, I can revoke his invite to the Gala.”

“What are you talking about?” You blink up at Stark sleepily, having been pulled from a really nice fantasy-dream involved unlimited Ben and Jerry’s, a masseuse named Nicole, and some very creative ice-cream indulgence. 

“Reindeer Games.” Stark pushes a cup of coffee into your hands and you sigh with happiness as the warmth bleeds through the mug.

“How nervous were you about this? Nevermind.” You take a happy sip of the good stuff and move on “What about him?”

“Someone’s bringing him as their plus one to the Stark New Year’s Gala.” Stark frowns at the audacity. “I know you guys only just broke up, so I’m saying, I can uninvite him.”

Ah, yes. The fake break up. Last week. 

Fun times, hurling insults back and forth between the two of you on the balcony of the Tower, each more outlandish than the last, and trying to get the other to crack under the absurdity of the whole situation. You’d won, naturally, and Loki had managed to turn his choked-laugh into a choked-sob-sneer before he made his grand exit, storming past your wide-eyed team.

The team had taken it pretty well - Barton had even taken you out to your mutually favorite dive bar to shark pool and get drunk while Maria covered for you.

You still weren’t quite sure how you’d gotten home...

Just thinking about it has your face breaking out in a smile and you realize Stark is looking at you suspiciously. “That’s really...sweet...of you, Stark. But I’m good. Really.”

“Are you sure? Cause we can make it hellish for him. Promise.” He pauses, considers, and you watch a lightbulb go on. “We can get you a fake date. Make him jealous.”

You snort. “I don’t think it’s possible.”

“No, no,” Stark smiles. “We can do this.”

“Stark…”

“Y/n.” He gives you that ex-playboy grin. “We’re doing this. Just...leave it to me. All you have to do is show up and look pretty.” He’s already turning to walk away, muttering under his breath.

“Stark!”

“What I hear when I’m being yelled at is people caring loudly at me.” Stark’s quick retreat down the hall means he misses the expletives you toss his way. “What’s that? Can’t hear you! We’ll talk later - lots to do, little time to do it.”


	104. Girls Night P2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Have a snippet

“There’s no good dick in Jersey, that’s what I heard.” Darcy makes wide eyes as everyone in the room sputters. “What? Am I _wrong_?”

You shrug, watch your counterpart’s face do that thing it does when she’s considering. “No, no, don’t mention Derrick. He  _ was _ a dick. And not the good kind.”

“But he knew what he was doing with it.” She points out. “I mean, you said it yourself you’ve never been that well exercised in your life. And he was king of multiple orgasm land for a while.”

“Did you say -” Pepper’s eyes go wide now. “Multiples? As in you or him?”

“Both.” You and She both say and Nat fans herself mockingly.

“How does one get dethroned from King of Multiple Orgasm-land?” Jane asks.

“Three words.” Your counterpart says. “Super soldier serum.”

“Wait a minute…” Nat asks. “How the hell do you know that? Did you tell her?” She accuses you and you trade grins with the Villain Wrangler. "That was in confidence, y/n!"

You shrug and take another sip of your wine. "It's hardly in confidence if everyone could hear you two going at it..." You shudder. "Thank god the walls are soundproofed now."

“Wait  _ you’ve _ slept with one of the super soldiers?” Darcy’s face is agog, then pouting. “Stupid super spies and their keeping secrets…”


	105. Fake Break Up: Snippet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This one is for send_methemoon - it's not a full scene, but I hope it does your imaginings some small justice!

Earth’s Mightiest Assumers are watching you and Loki continue to hurl insults, eyes ping-ponging back and forth between you two with each new volley of vitriol, shielded only by the thin glass doors.

From the body language alone, anyone can see where this lovers quarrel is heading, and Sam can only be grateful that Thor isn't here to witness it because the Asgardian would be working himself into a fit watching the two of you take pot-shots at each other.

“How long have they been going?” Sam asks and Nat shakes her head as she checks her watch.

“Twenty minutes.”

“What happened?”

Nat shrugged. “I missed the start of it, but they are  _ definitely _ not in a good place.” Her hand snags Bucky’s arm as the ex-Winter Soldier makes to move for the door. “Uh-uh.”

“But did you hear what he just said?” Bucky demands, and oh, if Sam Wilson were Loki, he’d start keeping an eye on sniper vantage points around his apartment.

“Uh, no.” Nat taps her ear. “Normal people hearing remember?”

“Oh.” Steve flushes on the other side of Nat. “Right. Well, to be fair, Buck, she did just compare him to a Bilgesnipe's rectum and said his magic was ‘parlor tricks’.”

“What’s she saying back now?” Clint asks, popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth as they watch your lips move in clipped, harsh ways. 

“He snores and -” Steve and Bucky both go a bit red around the cheeks and Sam can’t help but grin. “I’m not repeating that.”

“Bucky…” Sam whines, mock punching his shoulder. “C’mon, man.”

Bucky shakes his head. “He just called her an over-invested, underpaid, glorified babysitter.”

“Oooh, this is gonna be  _ good _ .” Clint is watching the byplay, clearly enjoying the show. 

“Amateurs,” Stark scoffs as he joins them, stealing a handful of Clint's popcorn. “Ugh. Kettle corn? Really, Barton? Never mind...F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes boss?”

“Pipe in the sound from the balcony please.”

Your voice comes through a second later. “-And what do you call the noise you make? Cause ‘snoring’ doesn’t quite cover it,  _ snookums _ .”

“You’re one to talk. For a mortal, you snore louder than  Jǫrmungandr-”

Your hands fly up. “Sure, bring your children into this-”

“Don’t play the shrew, you... _harpy_.” Loki’s tone has Earth’s Mightiest Heroes sucking in a breath as your eyes narrow on him. “It doesn’t suit you, darling. Or maybe it does.”

“Ha! You want to talk about suits, you overgrown goth reject-”

“It’s called an aesthetic and it shows a sense of style and taste.” Loki snipes. “Not that I’d expect much of that from someone in your position - you do associate with  _ heroes _ after all…”

“Oh don’t you say it like it’s a bad word.”

“I’m a villain.” Loki sneers, sharply enough to cut.

You roll your eyes, even as they flash fire. “You’re a  _ drama queen _ .”


	106. Wakanda Nonsense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I don't like goats, but this is my lil' HC on Bucky's goats...

“What’s up, broken White Boy?” Shuri laughs and wraps her arms around Barnes as the rest of you step off the quinjet. “Ah, we missed you. The goats especially.”

“Goats?” Stark asks, even while gazing around at the marvel that is Wakandan architecture and engineering. Inwardly, you groan. You’re going to regret this, you just knew it… “As in, Billy Goats Gruff? As in goat’s milk? Smelly, bleating animals with cloven hooves and slitted eyes...oh, I get it. Family resemblance, right Barnes?” Rogers punches Stark for you and the genius billionaire philanthropist former-playboy rubs at his shoulder. “Oww.”

“You didn’t tell them about the goats?” Parker asks, having already joined Shuri and Barnes, who is looking an awful lot like he’d like the earth to open up and swallow him whole right now.

You’ve never seen Barnes look so mortified...ever. Not even that one time you’d caught him belting out ‘Hadestown’ in the gym showers.

You could hardly be blamed for following the noise, right? And it wasn’t really your fault if he hadn’t heard you on account of said singing, and if you’d just happened to sit there for a full thirty seconds before he noticed you and then shrieked like a pre-teen before trying to cover himself.

Right?

Assassins were supposed to have situational awareness, so that wasn’t on you, surely.

“Goats.” Wilson nudges Barnes, grinning. He’s the only other one on the team who enjoys Barnes’ emotional range as much as you do.

Probably because he’s so good at provoking it.

“You have to meet them!” Shuri’s grin and the glint in her eyes is nothing but sisterly delight and oh, you can hardly wait…

“Okay,” Stark admits. “They’re pretty cute. For quadrupeds.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barnes’ discomfort is palpable right now, shifting his weight back and forth as Shuri keeps him anchored with one deceptively delicate arm looped through his. “You’ve seen them. Let’s go-”

“Oh, look at what Clint did!” Peter points at the goat who has somehow managed to climb into the branches of the tree next to the pen.

It's a record scratch moment as the entire team freezes.

“Did...You named a goat after me?” Barton asks as all eyes fall on Barnes.

“He named each of them after you.” Shuri adds helpfully. “Based on personality.”

“Yeah.” Parker jumps in, pointing to the auburn and black patched one. “That one’s ‘Tasha. You have to watch her - she likes to sneak up behind people and poke them with her horns in the...well, nevermind. And that one-” He points to the largest goat. “That’s The Big Guy, but he’s a total softie. He likes to just eat grass and stare into space and think deep goat thoughts.”

With each progressive goat named, Barnes resembles more and more the embarrassed older brother.

“And the one screaming is Tony.” Shuri jumps in. “He’s very noisy, but we like him anyway.”

Stark sputters.

“And the golden one is Thor, obviously.”

“And Sam is the one that keeps jumping off that rock, and then running around to do it again.” 

“Let me guess,” Nat laughs. “The runty one that keeps head-butting the fencepost is Steve?”

“Stevie.” Parker corrects solemnly.


	107. I'm Batman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I was feeling some kinda way today...still not sure what way it was, but here we are...

Tony Stark is a genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, and philanthropist.

He's a good leader when he gets out of his own way, and a great husband when he does the same there too.

But occasionally - ahem, far too freaking often - he doesn't get out of his own way, and in fact, gets in his own way. Which is why you're watching him work himself up into a state of panic in the lab after Pepper's urgent message an hour ago pulled you out of your morning yoga routine.

“I can’t do this,” He says for the thousandth-and-one time, continuing to pace as he runs a grease covered hand through his hair, eyes unseeing. “Nope. Can’t.”

There should be an actual  _ trench _ in the floor from the pacing you’ve witnessed so far this morning.

“Stark-”

“Don’t feed me some bullshit about how I’m not my father - I don’t need you to do that. That’s what my incredibly expensive therapist and B.A.R.F. are for.”

“Sta-”

“And I don’t know how to even begin to do this!”

“Stark.” He ignores you, still muttering under his breath and continuing that goddamn pacing. “Tony.” Still nothing. “Anthony!’

That gets his attention.  “What?”

“You’re going to be great at it.”

He snorts. “You are the last person I’d expect to have that view. Pepper paid you, didn’t she?”

“Noooo, but she did give me the heads up that you weren’t taking this well.”

Another scoff, and a quick pivot at the end of the rut in the floor - well, the imaginary one at any rate.

“Stark,” You huff, feeling more than a little amused. “You do realize you have Batman Syndrome, right?”

“I am so much richer than Bruce Wayne and I have far better taste in fashion. Plus, I make all of my own gear, and am generally all around better. Batman wishes he was me.” The retort is almost on automatic, carries no heat. “Wait, what exactly is Batman Syndrome?”

“You saw a Youtube video of a poorly but brightly dressed acrobat in Queens and immediately adopted him in every way except legally. Batman Syndrome.” You hop up and perch on the edge of his workbench, solely because you know it annoys him, and you smile as his eyes narrow. “You are the closest thing Peter Parker has ever had to a father. And what about Harley?” You add “And all the budding mad scientists of the future you’re constantly mentoring? Not to mention the team.”

“What about the team?”

“Stark,” Screw it, you laugh now, partially because it'll piss him off and partially because you just can't stop yourself. “Who invents more than half the gear we use? Who takes every injury as a personal challenge to make a better suit, a better shield, a better system?” You roll your eyes as comprehension starts to dawn on his face. “Face it, Stark, you’ve been father material this whole time.”

“Pepper’s pregnant.” Stark says, and it’s the first sign he’s coming around you’ve seen all day.

“Yep.”

“I’m gonna be a Dad.” It’s a statement, but his voice raises at the end ever so slightly.

“Pretty good one, if I had to put down money.” You hop down from the counter and cross to him, place a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Also, if you fuck up, Pepper’s already making me one of the godparents, and I will take it as my personal mission to keep you from screwing up this child too badly. Don’t make me do any more work than I have to, Stark.”

“I’m gonna be a Dad.” It’s firmer this time around, tinged with a bit of wonder as his lips start to curve upward. “We’re having a kid.”

“Yes.” You pat him on the cheek, not bothering to hide your affection for the moment. “Now go upstairs and talk to your pregnant wife that you ran out on this morning when you found out.”

He winces. “Scale of one to ten, how much groveling do I have to do?”

“Solid ten. She’ll forgive you - it’s Pepper, she knows you better than you know yourself. Doesn’t mean she won’t make you work for it.”


	108. Sick Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I have a head cold - so I'm gonna place the blame for this squarely on how much medicine I took and the fact that I'm a big ol baby when I get sick
> 
> I am a weak and simple woman, okay?

“What’re you doing in here?” Your voice is suspicious and carries just a hint of the sniffles and as Sam peers around Bucky’s shoulder, he has to admit, you look  _ awful _ . “Get out.”

“Aww, you don’t mean that.” Bucky says in a tone that has Sam doing a double take.

Sure, you _look_ pathetic, wrapped in a robe that is fluffier than anything he’s ever seen before - including the alpaca's Tony bought on a whim one day- tucked into your bed with a stack of books and boxes of kleenex and a half-empty bottle of Dayquil. And okay, your puffy eyes and running nose and general pallor kind of put you in the ‘clearly sick’ category.

Sam wouldn’t bet that you couldn’t still stab either one of them.

“Has someone been lobotomizing you, Barnes?” You ask, clearly coming to the same conclusion as Sam as you take in the sight of Bucky Barnes, in your room, with a tray, using an overly-sincere nice voice. “Why are you  _ here?” _

“You’re sick. So I made you soup, like I used to for Stevie.” Bucky nudges Sam with his elbow.

“And I brought you movies.”

For a moment, he’s certain you’re going to toss back the blankets and bodily kick them out of the room.

But then you slump a little deeper into the covers. “I’m fine. I don’t want your stupid soup. Or your dumb movies.”

“Okay, the fact that you didn’t just throw us out means you are not fine.” Sam points out, depositing the movies on the end of the bed, well out of coughing range because up close you look even worse and he does not want whatever bug it is you have. “Eat the damn soup. You’ll hurt Buck’s feelings if you don’t.”

You will, you honestly will, and Sam knows because he spent all morning watching Steve and Bucky fussing over it in the kitchen, Bucky slapping Steve’s overly helpful hands and comments down with increasingly short-tempered remarks.

“Which one of us made the soup in Brooklyn when the other one got sick?” He’d snapped finally. “Oh, that’s right- Me. Get out of here with your cumin and bullshit, Rogers.”

And maybe you can’t see it, but you really will hurt the man’s feelings if you don’t at least try the damn stuff, and Sam just doesn’t have it in him to deal with puppy-dog-kicked-Barnes today. He just doesn’t.

So when you glare at him, he crosses his arm over his chest and glares at you, while Bucky just...stands there awkwardly holding the tray with the soup and the toast and the juice because Bucky Barnes is an odd kind of overachiever in the 'taking care of sick people' category.

“Fine.” You begrudgingly sit up and Buck places the tray over your lap. “It smells good.”

“Tastes better.”

You roll your eyes but Sam notices you don’t disagree as you slurp a spoonful up, then look back at him. “What are you still doing here?”

“We’re going to keep you company until Nat and Wanda get back. What do you want to watch first?” Sam holds up your choices, and for a minute he’s certain you’re going to raise hell with your usual attitude, but after a moment, you point at the one on the far right and start to nibble at the edges of the toast. “Excellent choice.”

“I haven’t seen this one.” Bucky admits, dragging one of the plush armchairs over to the edge of the bed and settling in, pushing his feet up onto the bed to knock into yours.

“Inconceivable!” You scoff with a little of your usual spunk, and Sam settles in to watch The Princess Bride with two of his favorite idiots.


	109. Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a drabble, folks

“Ooh, what about this one?” You ask, pushing another dress into the fitting room where your counterpart is figuratively buried in the hunt for the perfect new years eve gown.

It’s adorable, really, watching her and Loki dance around each other about this upcoming event. Lethal as individuals, but around each other? Melting marshmallows.

You’ve gagged more than once in front of them, and you have the bruises to prove it from your counterpart.

Adorable assholes.

“What about this one?” She says, pushing aside the curtain to reveal a slinky black dress.

You take a moment, wrinkle your nose. “We can do better.”

“So what about you?” She asks, heading back behind the curtain. “You got some fine eye candy you’re planning on walking in with?”

“Tony’s setting me up with someone to make Loki jealous.” You grin at her choked laugh. “He won’t tell me who, and he’s not letting Pepper know either.”

“Oooh, how is Pep? She getting morning sick yet?”

“Morning sickness is a misnomer. Apparently, it can strike any time of day.” Yes, you had been unhappy to learn that as well - though Pepper had had your lovely suede boots dry cleaned after. “She wanted me to ask if you were sure you were ready to do this, by the way.”

“Why?” The question is muffled by the sounds of another dress being pulled on.

“It’s a big deal. Not hiding. The two of you.”

“I’m not backing out.” The statement is accompanied by a flat stare as the curtain is pushed aside again.

“You should if you think you’re going to be wearing _ that _ .” You joke. “But seriously, you two coming together means hiding your identity from my side is going to get...well, not impossible, but a helluva lot more complicated.”

“You think they’ll figure it out?”

“Oh. No. I’m not worried about your wrangler status.” You shake your head. “I meant the part where the minute you show up, on Loki’s arm, you’re going to have  _ two _ obnoxious older siblings demanding to know what’s going on.”

“You should make a New Years’ Resolution - keep out of my business.” Down goes the curtain again, the sounds of another dress discarded, then selected.

“Why would I do that?”

“You could consider it your good deed. Aren’t resolutions supposed to be to make the world a better place or some such bull?”

You scoff. “There’s literally no rules against resolutions being for evil, which you are well aware of.”

The curtain moves aside again and you feel your smile turn to a full blown grin to match your counterparts as she takes a quick spin.

“Oh yeah,” You nod. “That’s the one.”


	110. First Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: First time I've written fiction in a couple days - this chapter will definitely get edited at some point down the line, but I figured I'd toss it up and add it to the pile!
> 
> At this rate, with all my WIPs, I'm almost thinking grad school will get in the way of things...

Steve Rogers is constitutionally incapable of admitting to doing bad things.

The irony is not lost on you - the picture of truth and justice is in fact a master-level twister of the facts.

It’s not that he can’t recognize he’s choosing to do things that are unlawful or objectively not correct, but America’s Ass (and no, you are not referring to his musculature with that nickname) is absolutely and 100% unwilling to own up to it.

And this is not a new trait since he came out of the ice.

After all, he’d applied to the army five times, from five different cities.

‘Borrowed’ a car while on the run.

Then there was also that whole Jasper Sitwell and the roof situation, which, technically, Steve was correct in saying was more Nat’s work than his...

Maybe it comes from all those years as a sickly kid in Brooklyn, just wanting his Ma to not worry over him, not to have Bucky hovering - so he learned to lie, to lie well, and with the kind of conviction that can actually deflect people.

It’s probably also why aside from you, the only other person who can tell when Rogers is lying is Barnes.

Which is why the pair of you are standing like disappointed parents in front of him as he holds his ribs with a wince in the back of the quinjet after the latest mission ended in a fight between the two super soldiers and an enhanced - and enraged - inhuman.

“ ‘I’m fine’,” Barnes is quoting in a pretty decent impression of Rogers at the moment. “ ‘Promise, Buck’. You  _ promised _ , Steve.”

“I will be.” Rogers tries to slide around it, wincing as the breath required to make words forces his ribcage - and its several broken ribs - to expand. “I had to take the hit…”

Your snort of disbelief lets him know there’s no use trying for that.

“I would’ve been  _ fine _ .” Barnes’ scowl slips for a moment, and you can see the gut-wrenching fear that laid under it before it was masked again. “I was already moving - it would’ve been a glancing blow at best.”

The mutinous set of Rogers’ lips don’t do anything to hide the acknowledgment that he can’t talk his way out of this lecture. “What kind of friend would that make me?”

“A smart one.” Barnes nods with your words.

“You can’t just...throw yourself between me and danger, Steve.”

“You did.” Rogers’ eyes flash, chin goes up, and the accusation in the words settles a tense weight over the conversation. “All the time, Buck. When we were kids...in the War...Even when you were still under Hydra’s control.”

Barnes swears in Russian and you make a note to ask Nat to translate it for you later and runs a hand through his hair. “Punk…”

“No, Bucky.” You might as well not be standing there now, because both sets of blue eyes are locked together. “No. You’ve always...you’ve always been there for me. Stark might’ve made me the first one of these,” He hefts the shield next to him, sets it back down without looking away from Barnes. “But you...you’ve always been the first shield I had.”


	111. New Liver, Same Eagles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Late night snippet following the New Years' Gala - as always, unbeta'd

“First of all, offense taken.” You scoff as you pass your counterpart a coffee before settling in to the little bistro chair across from her. “I do not look like shit. I know this because unlike half of the damn city, I went to bed at a reasonable hour. And second of all, where the hell were  _ you _ last night? Pepper was worried...”

It’s the day after the Stark New Year’s Gala, and your counterpart had been conspicuously absent from the evening’s festivities, along with a particular ice giant.

You’d texted her at some point when it’d become more than a ‘fashionably late’ kind of time and had been reassured by the response and offer of coffee tomorrow - now today - and the reminder that you weren’t her mom, thanks so much.

“We may have opted for a more private party.” Her smug smile and relaxed body language are clear indicators of what kind of party it was. “Who’d Stark try to set you up with?”

“Barnes.”

The sudden spray of coffee makes a passing couple scowl at her while she howls with laughter. “Sorry,” She says to them, and then turns back to you, wiping at her damp eyes. “I’m sorry, I thought you said Stark tried to set you up on New Years with Barnes? Isn't he supposed to be the smart one?”

“Oh, you heard correctly.”

“I bet that went down like...well, like something super unpleasant.”

“Day old cheeseburger.”

“Aunt Betty’s tuna casserole.”

“Strawberry champagne.”

“That weird Fourth of July jello with the pretzels and whipped cream.”

She shudders and you share a laugh. “So what happened?” At your questioning eyebrow she continues. “It’s Barnes. And you. Something definitely happened.”

“What do you mean ‘and me’?” You ask.

She sighs. “Any time the two of you interact, it's..."

“It’s not my fault he’s a chronic dumbass.”

“Takes one to know one.” She mutters.

“I object!”

She rolls her eyes at that. “Anywho...what happened?”

“Nothing. He was Barnes. Made some comment about how surprised he was that I could look that nice.” You fidget remembering it, something akin to embarrassment bubbling up at his all-too-real shock. “And then when Loki didn’t show, he spent the rest of the night hanging with Rogers and Wilson.” You shrug and force a smile. "Honestly, I'm just glad the three of them behaved for once."

“Uh-huh. We’ll come back to this.” She promises as your phone goes off, signaling an end to your hoped-for quiet morning. “It’s a new year, y/n.”

You wave her off as you stand. “New liver, same eagles.”


	112. Real Wedding, Fake Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Dunno why I enjoy this trope so much, but I do 😉

The problem with living a life that requires absolute secrecy from your nearest and dearest is that every so often, one of your cover lies will catch you in a somewhat painful pinch.

It’s why one of the rules of spy-craft is to tell as little as possible, using as much of the truth as possible.

But goddammit if your sister’s wedding hadn’t spurred your Mom to new heights in her obnoxiousness to make sure her baby didn’t end up alone and a spinster. So you might’ve...well... _ lied. _ And now you were stuck here with a problem, and limited solutions.

“Use the magic words,” Wilson was gloating, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

You sighed, crossed your arms over your chest and shot another glance at the clock. The wedding was happening today, and you had to be there in exactly two hours, and you were still drenched in cooled sweat from a much needed stress-relieving training session with Nat that you would definitely be feeling tomorrow, which meant you really didn’t have time for Wilson to drag this out. “You know what, screw it. I’ll tell her I broke up…”

“No no no.” Wilson hopped up from his chair. “And miss this fine opportunity to pry into your life? Hell no. What’s the dress code?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s an evening wedding at the Weylin, Wilson.”

Your sister was not going down the aisle quietly, that was for damn sure.

“Okay. Got it.” Wilson actually rubbed his hands together with glee. “What’s my cover?”

“We have a mission?” Nat and Barnes joined the two of you, Nat stealing your half-finished post-workout smoothie with a happy smirk. “Yessss. Love the way you make these.”

“You do know it’s not hard to replicate?” You asked. “And no, no mission.”

“It might as well be.” Wilson’s grin was growing wider by the minute. “And did I mention how flattered I am that you chose  _ me _ to be your undercover partner this evening?”

“You are literally the least recognizable of this entire bunch.”

“Ouch.” 

“What’s up?” Barnes asked, sliding into the seat Wilson had just vacated.

“Sister’s wedding.  _ Someone _ ,” Wilson taunted. “Told her momma she’s been seeing someone to get her off her back about her love life and now she has to pay the piper.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I have to shower and get ready. If you’re in, meet me downstairs in an hour. Otherwise I’m just going to bite the bullet.” You left them behind you without another look.

“What’d you do to Wilson?” Barton asked as you shook out the last of your bobby-pinned updo with a moan of relief. “Man looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion.”

“Wedding.” You said, groaning as you drop onto the couch next to him and start to massage your scalp. “Sister’s.”

“Oh.” At your raised eyebrow, Barton grins. “Don’t look at me like that. Your family is...a lot. And that’s coming from  _ me _ .”

“He was hoping for blackmail material.” Your own smile is shades of smug and you know it. “Foolish mortal.”


	113. Hot Pockets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Semi_inspired made a comment about Barnes carrying around hot sauce packets and because I was left unsupervised, caffeinated, and in front of my computer...well, here we are...

It happens in the heat of the moment, in a shootout with this week’s flavor of criminal enterprise.

Barnes is providing cover for the team, who are high-tailing it back to the quinjet when the flash of metal from a window in the warehouse catches your eye. Your warning goes unheard under the sound of gunfire, or maybe Barnes doesn’t register the urgency in your tone. Either way, you have two seconds to make a decision.

So you tackle the Winter Soldier - something that wouldn’t be possible under normal circumstances, but it’s not like he was braced for a tackle from the back - as the shot from a high velocity rifle rings out and you realize you’re too slow.

Barnes lets out a yelp of surprise as the team reaches you, shoving you off him with a muttered, “What the fuck?”

“Where are you hit?” You ask, feeling liquid coating your hands as Nat pulls you to your feet and all of you make for the jet. Wilson is already beelining for the first aid kit and Barton vaults into the cockpit without any direction. Less than fifteen seconds later, the jet is in the air.

There’s a darkening stain along Barnes thigh - the fluid red against your fingertips as he shoves your hands away.

“I’m fine!”

“Buck,” Rogers starts as Wilson crouches at his side.

“It’s not blood.” Barnes grumbles, swatting away Wilson’s concern. 

You blink at him.

Wilson starts to laugh.

“What...What’s so funny?” Rogers asks as Nat holds your hand up under the lights and you realize it’s the wrong shade and viscosity. “If it’s not blood…” His sentence trails off as Nat sucks one of your fingers clean and you wish you had a camera for the three all-too-male stunned faces facing the pair of you. You settle for rolling your eyes and Nat smirks.

“Told you.” Nat shoots at Barnes.

“Someone care to fill the rest of us in?” Stark asks. “Not that we aren’t all thrilled at Tin Man’s lack of bullet holes…”

“Buckminster here lost a bet with Nat last week.” Wilson repacks the medical kit as the adrenaline starts to ebb. “So he had to add something to his gear.”

“It’s hot sauce.” Barnes admits.

“Why?”

Nat shrugs in response to your question. “Figured if he was going to be putting his foot in his mouth as often as he does, he oughta have something to make it taste better.”


	114. Way To The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I feel like I should apologize for the Bucky-based binge of this day...but I'm not gonna, cause at this point, y'all know JBB is my faves

You knew the interview was going to go sideways the minute the questions started.

One, it was an interview of Bucky Barnes.

Two, the interviewer was focusing waaay too much on the war instead of the upcoming prosthetics-for-children charity event that supposed to be the highlight of this informal one on one at the Tower.

Bucky Barnes does  _ not _ like to talk about the war. 

Three, the interview is live, against your better judgement and with many many threats to Barnes' person if he dicks this up (Bob had been the one to issue the threats, but you stood by him).

Predictably, you are standing behind the cameras, shooting Barnes not-so-subtle ‘behave or else’ looks while the poor crew work around you and Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, who are drifting in and out of the space where the interview has been set up in the Tower.

“So tell me,” The interviewer crosses her long legs and leans back in the studio chair across from Barnes. “How did you become Captain America’s right hand man so quickly?”

Does Barnes talk about his skills as a sniper? Or bravery under fire? Or  _ anything  _ relevant to his quick and meteoric rise through the ranks? 

No.

Does he talk about growing up with Rogers? About the friendship immortalized in every history museum in the country? 

Also no.

Instead he opens his big, stupid mouth with a cocky grin directed right at the cameras - ahem, right at  _ you _ \- and says, complete with a roguish wink, “Fucked my way to the top.”


	115. Double Oh Rip Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Thanks for this, semi_inspired!

“It’s my turn to pick.” You walk in just in time for Nat’s voice to hit your ears and oh man, Movie Night is about to be ruined if the edge in her tone is any kind of indicator. “Get over it, Cap.”

“I’m just saying, these movies are dumber than the novels and that’s saying something.” Rogers is pouting on the couch while the rest of the team watches the unfolding drama from their varied spots around the room.

Nat snorts. “This from the man who always picks superhero movies on his night.”

“What’re we watching?” You ask, stealing a handful of popcorn from Barton’s bowl, resigning yourself to another night of squabbles.

“Nat picked a Bond flick.” Barton fills you in as America’s Ass and the Little Red Murder Machine continue to exchange glares.

“Ooh,” You actually feel a little excitement now. “I’ve been meaning to watch these sometime.”

“You’ve...you’ve never seen a Bond movie?” Stark asks, peering at you over Pepper’s head. His better half has been feeling under the weather as she  _ builds a human being _ so she’s snuggled comfortably atop her doting husband. At least that’s one Avenger you know won’t be getting up to shenanigans tonight… “Like, ever? Isn’t that, like, required watching for spies and wranglers?”

"I haven't seen them either." Barnes offers.

You shrug off Stark’s shock as Barton’s nose wrinkles with a dawning realization.

“Waitaminute, did you like  _ know _ Ian Flemming?” He asks Rogers. “Wasn’t he an intelligence officer in world war two?”

“He was a dick.” Rogers’ voice turns biting. “And James Bond is such a…”

“Completely fictional character?” Wilson offers. “I mean, he’s a womanizer, and that’s not cool, but why’s this…” Wilson’s eyes dart between Barnes and Rogers, some kind of lightbulb going on - though you don’t follow it - and he sits back. “You know what, nevermind.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Spill, Wilson.”

Rogers is glaring at both of you now, red rushing to those irish cheekbones.

It’s as close to furious as you’ve ever seen him over something this trivial, broad shoulders almost shaking.

Your eyes slide to Barnes, who looks as confused as the rest of the room.

Oh.

Wilson grins as he watches understanding wash over your face. “Right?”

You snort, try to rein it in, and fail.

Earth’s Mightiest Assholes watch you lose it, and it’s enough of a shock to knock the anger and sharp-edged temper out of the room.

“Thanks.” You say when you can breathe again and Barton hands you a kleenex to wipe the tears from your eyes. “Oh, my god. That was...shiiiiit…”

“You gonna share with the class?”

“I know why Rogers doesn’t like James Bond.” You start to tick things off on your fingers. “Always has the perfect comeback. Master assassin. Excellent marksman. Charming by some - really low - social standards...”

“Uses terrible pick up lines,” Wilson jumps in now. “Decent cardsharp. Has the initials ‘JB’.”

Rogers just sighs as the room bursts into laughter and drops his head into his hands. When he pulls that head of stubborn stupidity back up, his expression is aggrieved. "It's offensive. Flemming didn't even _try_ to pretend he wasn't just ripping off..."

"Wait! You're telling me that's why you hate Bond so much?" Stark's outburst has Pepper giving him a mock punch. "Owch. Abuse! It's not my fault Capsicle's getting offended over Double Oh Rip Off."

“I don’t get it.” Barnes says.


	116. Price of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hey, I hope you're all doing okay out there today. Have a laugh, on me (and our favorite found fam)

Steve looked around the room, making eye contact with each member of the team, acknowledging them all. “I know I’m asking a lot…” 

Barton shakes his head, but he’s smiling as Steve continues.

“But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”

Sam smiled and nodded, folding his arms over his chest. “We’re with ya, Cap.”

“Til the end of the line,” Nat tosses in, with a wink to Bucky, who gives him a stoic nod.

“I’m in,” Stark said. “But if I get killed, Pepper will murder all of you. And I expect you to raise my kid right.”

“Banner?”

Bruce ran a hand through his curls - a tell when he’s feeling pressure - but he nods.

“Wanda? Vis?”

Nods from the couple, Vis’ arms wrapped around Wanda as the woman gives Steve a shy smile of support. “We are also with you.”

“We’re keeping the kid out of this.” Stark interjects as Steve’s eyes move to Peter, perched on the edge of the table.

“Hey!”

“No, no, he’s right.” Steve gives the kid his ‘Captain’ smile to soften the blow. “Besides, don’t you have exams to study for?”

“But I can-”

“Nope.” Stark overrules. “Study. Go blow the curve so I can continue the cover story that you’re my genius intern. And so May doesn’t actually kill me…” He mutters, trailing off as Peter’s pout is met with unyielding Avengers’ faces.

“I’m not a kid anymore.” He grumbles, but he’s already moving towards the door. 

“They grow up so fast.” Tony knuckles away an imaginary tear.

“Alright then.” Steve sweeps the room once more. “Let’s suit up.”

“Move, move, move!” Sam screeches as he wheels through the air of the mostly-open multi-story lobby, dodging another laser blast. “Bucky, watch out!”

Steve - holding the objective of this mission securely against his chest - can only watch in horror as Bucky takes a bright colored beam to the chest and falls.

“Nooooo!” Wilson shouts, dive bombing the enemy and drawing their fire from Steve.

Close, so close.

He has to finish the mission.

Even though every instinct in him screams to turn, to save his team, he knows it’s too late. He has to make sure their sacrifice isn’t in vain...That they didn’t fall at the hands of this unexpectedly challenging enemy for nothing.

And so he turns away and keeps moving.

He only has to make it to the far side of the lobby for extraction.

The laser blast takes him right in the back of his thigh, muscles spasming under the shock, leg numbing and sending him spiraling, crashing to the floor as deadly, stealthy footsteps stalked closer and despair washed over him.

They’d failed.

The smile on your face was bright and happy as you let out a whoop. “I won, motherfuckers! Ha!” Another whoop as the rest of the team slowly staggered, stumbled, and slouched into the space.

“So close…” Tony shook his head. “Goddammit, I thought we were gonna win this time.”

“When will you learn,” You grinned at the sour faces in front of you. “Never mess with the best.”

Bucky held out a hand and Steve let him pull him to his feet while Sam dithered over a dent in the wings of his suit. “Yeah, yeah.”

“And don’t think I forgot about the stakes.” You were all but dancing, and Steve found himself fighting a smile at the simple, playful joy of it. “Losers at laser tag have to…” You trailed off expectantly.

Nat grumbled, one arm draped over Bruce’s shoulder as she shifted her weight off of what looked like a sprained ankle. “...has to behave for one whole month on social media and press tours.”

Bucky and Sam in particular look like they’ve bitten into something sour.

“And the winner?” You ask, waggling your fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.

"Gets bragging rights and one IOU from all other players, to be redeemed at his or her leisure." Tony's tone could charitably be called 'begrudging'.  


"Thank you. F.R.I.D.A.Y?"  


"Yes, y/n?"

"Play the victory song, please."

Groans all around, but the sound of classic rock began to play from the speakers.

_ "We are the champions, my friends..." _


	117. Designated Avengers P2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Wuht a week. Gonna try to write a bit more regular again soon. In the meantime...drunk Steve!

Steve Rogers is the best kind of drunk - affectionate, loving, and if he only didn’t outweigh you by several times your entire mass, you really wouldn’t mind it when he gets himself a bottle or two in on the mead that Thor is constantly bringing him.

But considering this time he’s managed to stumble himself to the couch before his legs stopped working, you’re content to watch the big goof in his inebriated state without being compelled to wrangle.

“You’re so  _ tiny _ ,” He just finished gasping to a bemused Natasha. “But so strong. And not...you...y’know, not just physically.” Blue-eyed puppy dog earnest motherfucker taps his chest over his heart as he says, with total seriousness. “But here. So strong.”

Stark barks out a laugh, covers his mouth, and then laughs again, trying to disguise it as a cough while Banner just shakes his head and heads for the elevator. “Sorry. Don’t...don’t mind me. Coming down with a cold…”

“Bucky!” Rogers shouts. “Bucky, make soup! Tony is sick! Bucky makes the best soup,” He tells Stark in a conspiratorial whisper as the Black Widow takes the opportunity to ghost out of the room. “But he only makes it when we're sick.”

“That's enough out of you, you jerk.” Barnes’ smile makes a lie out of the grumpy tone as he hands Rogers a glass of water and two aspirin. “Take these. Drink that.”

Rogers giggles but takes them as he continues to tell Stark. “He’s so  _ bossy. _ Like y/n! But they’re both really good at it. I don’t… I don’t  _ like _ being bossy.”

Stark bites his lip, eyes watering as he presses a fist against his mouth, shaking his head. “I can’t.” He confesses to the room before walking away. “Just...it’s too much…” His unrestrained laughter is muffled only by the doors of the elevator closing.

“You gonna help with this?” Barnes asks, arching an eyebrow at you as Rogers chugs the glass of water.

“Help with what?” Rogers grunts as Barnes pulls him to his feet. “Oh! Are we doing something?” His legs buckle and there but for super soldier strength would have gone down to the floor. Instead, he ends up half draped over Barnes arms, blinking up at him. “Are we dancing, Sarge?”

“You carry, I’ll get the door to his room.” You offer and after a moment, Barnes nods, accepting the logic that yeah, he is the only one who can move the physical weight of a drunk Steve Rogers from the living room to his bed.

It’s a bit like that time you visited the Barton farm when Clint was trying out potbellied pigs - there’s a lot of swearing from the adults, and some slipping of hands while Rogers proves to be more hindrance than help, and you swear to god, Rogers is definitely enjoying this...

Finally, you hold the door open and Barnes dumps his best friend unceremoniously on the bed before moving his ragdoll limbs into positions that won’t leave him with joint pain in the morning.

“I love you.” Rogers murmurs, nuzzling his cheek into Barnes' palm, eyes sliding shut.

“Tell me that when you’re sober.” You watch Barnes’ hand brush a lock of golden hair back from Rogers’ face, his face softer than you’ve ever seen it. “Get some sleep, punk.”


	118. Road Trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Turns out, if I spend my entire workday staring at a screen, then my non-work time ALSO staring at a screen (apps, emails, news, writing), I run real dry on creativity. Now that I've cracked that code...hopefully be up and running like normal after this next week

“I did  _ not _ expect the next alien invasion to be in bum-fuck Iowa.”

Nat slugged Stark for you before twisting back into the passenger seat as your battle-weary team slouched in the back of the overcrowded van serving as your exfil plan since the jet you’d ridden out in had been blown to pieces and Stark's thrusters had sustained serious damage in the fight.

You were having very vivid, very traumatic flashbacks to that family roadtrip back when you were in middle school, fingers tightening every so often around the steering wheel.

Note to self: send Mom an ‘I’m so sorry’ card when you get back to New York.

“Ow. What was that for?” Stark whined, quieting under your quelling glare in the rearview mirror.

“One,  _ language, _ Papa Bear.” Nat held up another finger. “Also, it’s bum-fuck Kansas, not Iowa.”

“Is there a difference?” Barnes asked. "They look the same to me."

“More corn, less cows?” Wilson offered. “Can we stop for food soon? I’m  _ starving. _ ”

Nat’s nose wrinkled. “I am  _ not  _ sitting in this car with you for the next six hours if you eat Taco Bell again.”

“That was one time!”

“It was traumatic is what it was.” Rogers grouched, giant body folded up comically in the back seat. “Stark, slide the damn seat forward, will ya?”

“No can do, Capsicle.”

“Nat,” Rogers’ whined. “Trade me spots.”

Nat shrugged, the tiniest of smiles at the edges of her lips as Barnes and Wilson start aggressively shoving at each other over the invisible line one of them has crossed. “Snooze you lose, Rogers. Them’s the rules of ‘shotgun’.”

“But Nat…”

“So help me god, I will pull this van over.” Your words cut off Rogers’ plea, silence Barnes and Wilson, and put a smirk on Stark’s face that you don’t even have to see to know is there.

“Sorry,  _ Mom _ .” Stark quails under the glare you send him, holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Shutting up.”


	119. Worthy

The sun is shining, the weather is warm, the picnic baskets are overflowing, and Earth’s Mightiest Assholes are actually being pretty chill for a change.

It’d been Pepper’s idea to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to load up several cars and drive to the lake where she and Stark had planned to build themselves a retreat from the world.

Parker has roped Wilson and Barnes into a cannon-ball contest off the dock. Nat is floating well out of range of the splash while Rogers shouts encouragement and scores from the water. Rhodey and a very pregnant Pepper are camped out in chairs while Stark waits hand and foot on his wife (you’ll admit, it’s very sweet, and only a little nauseating, to watch him bring food and drink like little offerings to his clearly bemused better half).

Barton’s munchkins are giving Thor the stank eye as he tries to convince them that the Hammer is a much more worthwhile weapon than the bow while Barton and Lara watch with amusement.

They’d even brought the dog and Barton’s newest protege, Kate.

The dog made the introductory rounds, complete with intimate sniffing of all the humans and then took off for more interesting olfactory adventures, while Kate watched the Barton’s and Thor, occasionally roped into conversation by Pepper.

This is a good day, you decide, reclining in your own chair with a strong glass of ice tea and a cheesy romance novel your counterpart had loaned you, complete with half-naked hero and homoeroticism spilled across the cover to keep your charges at bay.

She’d been right - it was more effective than mace.

You looked up from the pages - more skimming than reading - to see Thor with his hand outstretched and the Barton offspring watching with eyes wide.

He’d thrown the hammer.

You rolled your eyes.

After a long moment, silence still reigned.

Thor’s face is taking on a slightly concerned cast as the munchkins grow restless.

Lucky - the dog - comes bounding back.

And clutched in his slobbering, joyful mouth?

The hammer.

“Ah,” Thor’s smile is radiant as he nods. “Of course. Yes. All dogs are worthy.”


	120. Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Again, tumblr gets this one

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes, imagine a peaceful beach, and exhale slowly. When you open your eyes, you're met with an unreadable face from both of the massive pains in the ass across from you.

"Can you _try_ to see this from my angle?" You ask.

Wilson looks at Barnes.

Barnes looks at Wilson.

Both men simultaneously crouch down, slumping.

"Nope." Barnes says to Wilson. "I don't see it."

"Me neither." Wilson tells Barnes, shit-eating grin on his face.

Both of them turn their oh-so-cheeky smiles at you, and they freeze as they take in the expression on your face.


	121. Unofficial Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: No excuses once again

The elevator jerks to a stop as Nat activates the emergency halt and turns to fix the entire compartment.

"I bet you're all wondering why I've gathered you here today..."

You don't even look up from your phone screen, but you feel the tension suddenly pouring off of the five men trapped in this small space with a former assassin.

What was it they insisted you call it?

Oh yeah, a killbox.

It seems accurate enough in this moment as Nat fixes each of them with a piercing, and knowing stare.

"Nat," Rogers tries to head her off, falls silent under that gaze.

Wilson and Barnes are wound tight enough to snap, rigid frames hiding the slight body of Peter Parker, who's trying to see what the fuss is about.

Even Thor is appreciating the tension of the moment, though he looks slightly less bothered than the others.

For a god, you suppose it's only natural to occasionally forget the feeling of mortal peril.

"Which one of you," She croons, ever so sweet and terrifying. "Ate the last of my pop-tarts?"


	122. Dream a Little Dream...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Recently began rewatching Supernatural from the beginning (oh my gawd they were *so* young - their eyes were so full of hope!) and work was stressful today and just...ooops, my fingers slipped? A lot?
> 
> As always, unbeta-ed, etc etc

_ The band is playing something slow, something that curls around him the way one of his hands is curled around Peggy’s, leaving him feeling warm and loose and relaxed as they sway in the middle of the floor of the Stork Club. _

_ Peggy lifts her head from his chest and sends him a smile that sets his heart aflutter all over again. “We’re finally getting our dance, love.” _

_ Steve chuckles, feels his face flush. “We waited long enough, didn’t we?” _

_ “Mm…” Peg’s head drops back and his own eyes shut so he can savor the feel of her in his arms, capture this moment with that eidetic memory everyone thinks is such an asset. He never wants to let this moment go… _

“Y/n!” There’s genuine panic in Barnes’ voice as he slides through your door, the momentum of his run overriding the brakes. “Y/n! It’s Steve! He won’t wake up!”

“I swear to god, Barnes, if this is a prank…” You already know it’s not, not with the wide-eyed chest-heaving Winter Soldier in front of you as you toss aside your reports and push to your feet, already following as he turns. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” Barnes promises. “We did the mission, got in and out. He was talking and walking and fine and then he laid down on the couch to take a nap and now he won’t wake up.”

You both hit the living room at a run where Stark and Banner are asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. for various vital readouts and where the hell is Cho? While Sam tries to shake Rogers awake.

“Move move move.” You order, and Wilson moves just enough for you to take his spot beside the couch. Your brain is thinking on too many tracks at the same time - the mission brief and scope - while your eyes move over Rogers’ completely unconscious form. If not for the small but certain rise and fall of his chest, you’d think him dead.

The hairs on the back of your neck raise. 

This isn’t a natural sleep.

_ The war is over and Peggy is warm in his arms and the way she looks up at him with a smile that is somehow soft and sharp at the same time...he feels like he could burst. _

_ Everyone he loves is safe - the Howlies are fixing to drink the bar at the edge of the dance floor dry - and here, he thinks as he watches Bucky spin the doll he’d been chatting up all night into a dip that makes Steve feel a little starburst of envy as the other couple grin at each other. _

_ And sadness. _

_ “Are you alright?” Peggy asks, and he realizes he’s stopped swaying and one of his hands has been moving over his heart. _

_ He shakes his head to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah. Got everything I could wish for, right here.” _

“Did anyone touch his skin?” You ask and lean over him, looking...looking...

There.

A tiny smidge of blue ink near his hairline, a partial line with a stylized slant you’ve seen before.

“On the mission,” You prompt. “Did someone touch him? On the head?”

“Uh...yeah,” Wilson and Barnes exchange looks of confusion. “Yeah, one of the dudes who’s hands lit up with blue fire. But there wasn’t any burning, and Steve put him down pretty quick. Seemed fine the whole way home...”

“Serum must’ve held off the onset.” You mutter, grabbing your phone and scrolling to the contact you need before pressing ‘call’. “C’mon, come on, pick up you overgrown moose...Sam!”

“What?” Wilson yelps.

“Not you.” You shake your head at him, turn your attention back to your phone. “Hey, yeah, it’s me. I don’t have time for the usual, Sammy. I’ve got a superhero down for the count in a djinn dream.” You shake your head at his questions. “Yes, I’m sure, Sam, for the love of all that is holy, I will  _ hurt _ you if you don’t get- Okay, okay, thirty minutes? You know where to go?”

Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are staring at you when you hang up.

“Nobody touches him.” Your order, before putting in security overrides for the special guests you're about to have.

“What’s going on?” Barnes is about five seconds from a full-on-freak-out, so you focus on him, despite the level look Banner and Stark are giving you that are not so subtly demanding answers. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“The man who touched him - did he have weird looking tattoos? On his face, his arms?” Barnes nods. “He’s been poisoned. I called some friends who have experience with this kind of thing.”

“Djinn dream?” Banner asks. “Like, I dream of genie? Like, mythical creatures?”

“Less harem pants, much more homicide.” You nudge Barnes’ hand -just reaching- away from Steve’s face with sympathy. “Can’t risk it, Barnes.”

Barnes listens, but only just, crouching next to Rogers. You wish like hell you could be comforting, but time matters right now, and Barnes wouldn’t accept it from you. You have to keep the wheels on til help arrives. 

Wilson does what you can’t - puts a supportive hand on Barnes’ shoulder. “He’ll pull through, Buck.”

You’re pretty sure Barnes doesn’t hear the words as he starts to chew at his lip and quietly murmurs. “Wake up, Stevie. You can’t leave me here…”

_ “Did you hear that?” Steve can just barely...just barely make out the sound of something - he can’t quite grab it before it ghosts away from him. But it’s important, he knows it, and it’s like someone’s struck an out of tune note right in his ear... _

_ “Hear what, love?” Peggy asks, slender frame swaying against him. “Steve, are you alright?” _

_ “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just...I thought I heard something.” He shakes his head, smiles at the love of his life and lets the music pull him back under. _

“This is the help you summoned?” Stark asks incredulously.

“We’re professionals.” Dean snarls as Sam gives Rogers another once over.

“Professional  _ whats _ ?” Romanov asks.

You roll your eyes. “Sam?”

“Definitely djinn-struck.” Sam opens his bag. “Lucky we were working a case with a nest of ‘em on the other side of the river. Had a couple doses of antidote made up just in case.” He casts an eye over Rogers’ mass. “Probably oughta give him two, maybe three doses to be safe. He’s a big guy, and Djinn this potent are...powerful…”

“So they...roofied...him?” Barnes asks from where Wilson is almost restraining him. 

“Not exactly.” Dean jumps in with the explanation to distract while Sam rolls up Rogers’ sleeve, finds a vein. “See Djinn, they don’t really grant wishes. But their poison...well, it makes you hallucinate. Makes you dream on your biggest wish. Keeps you unconscious so the Djinn can take their time and feed off you. You’ll feel like you’ve lived a lifetime in that wish, but in reality, Djinn go through a body in two, maybe three days tops.”

“So this antidote will get him out? Wake him up?”

The look the Winchesters shoot each other does not go unnoticed.

“Normally? Uh, yeah.” Sam rubs the back of his head and shrugs helplessly. “But, uh, if this Djinn was strong enough to take down Captain freaking America…”

“There must be other ways to wake him up.” Banner rationalizes. “We can have F.R.I. take samples and analyze your antidote…”

“What woke you up?” Stark asks Dean and everyone stares. “What? It’s obvious tough-guy here was speaking from personal experience.”

There’s a beat, and you can literally see Dean put away the need to get defensive as you shoot him a pleading glance. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. For me, the first time, it was ah...I had to kill myself in the dream to wake up, okay?”

The room explodes into an uproar.

“Shut! Up!” Your bellow would do Thor proud - note to self: send him a thank you note for those lessons- and you turn your eyes to Sam. “Will the antidote work - will it wake him up?”

“In theory.” Helpless is not a good look for the younger Winchester. “Honestly? If it doesn’t wake him up, I think it’ll get him close enough...close enough to choose to wake up.”

_ There’s something wrong with this scene. _

_ He knows it, but he can’t put his finger on it...Even as he tries to shake it off, to go back to enjoying this dance with his girl… _

_ Bucky. There’s something about him...something isn’t right… _

_ For a minute, Steve sees Bucky’s left hand and it shines with metal under the lights of the dance hall. And then he blinks and it’s just Bucky’s normal hand as he raises an arm and twirls the woman he’s dancing with. _

_ “Steve?” _

_ Something isn’t right, and his gut fills with shards of jagged ice at the certainty in the knowledge. _

_ “Steve, you’re squeezing my hand…” _

_ “This isn’t…” He lets go of Peggy’s hand. “This isn’t...this isn’t right. This isn’t what happened.” Real memory comes flooding back in. “Bucky fell from the train, and I put the Valkyrie into the water...You moved on, and we never did this. This isn’t real.” He looks around. “What the hell is this?” _

_ It isn’t Peggy looking at him anymore out of those doe eyes - no, it’s something out of one of the sci-fi specials Buck used to read to him when he was sick...what’s the word...something ancient, something terrifying...eldritch...as she puts a long-nailed hand on his chest and purrs, “It could be. It could be real...Your girl in your arms, your boy whole and happy again. I could make it good for you. So good, Steve.” _

_ “It wouldn’t be real.” Though God, it feels like it. “This is just...you’ve done something to my head.” _

_ “You could have years with them in here.” Not-Peggy continues. “I could give you a lifetime with them both. All you have to do is let me.” The heat of her is beating at him like a physical thing now, and god, he wants to let her thaw the ice in his belly. “Let me give you your wish.” _

“No.”

“It’s cute that you think you can go toe to toe with me on this.” You tell Dean as Sam shoots him a ‘you’re on your own’ look. “Let’s be clear, I’m the most qualified to do this. Won’t be my first time in the subconscious of a superhero,” You mutter. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I know you two won’t just cut bait.”

“I know him best.” Barnes argues. “It should be me.”

“Not that your staggeringly codependent bond doesn’t spook the hell out of the rest of us sometimes,” Stark is the one who says it, surprisingly - equally surprisingly laying a hand of comforting restraint on Barnes’ shoulder. “You’re a fucking mess, Manchurian. And this - as unbelievable as it seems - sounds like it’s going to require a ton of focus to pull off.”

“Hit me.” You tell Sam, who hands you the tea that will let you waltz into Rogers’ unconscious mind. It tastes absolutely vile, and the face you makes at least cracks a few smiles. “I’ll bring him back, Barnes.” You promise. “How long does it take to take effe-”

You don’t even finish the sentence.

_ “Rogers?”  _

_ Not-Peggy spins at the sound of his name from your lips, and you freeze for a half second before your eyes narrow in that way he’s used to seeing just before you really kick someone’s ass. _

_ “You okay, Rogers?” _

_ He nods. “Kinda surprised to see you here.” _

_ “You can’t have him.” Not-Peggy snarls, and whatever lurks beneath her facade is definitely not human as the flesh warps and distorts slightly. “I can live off this one’s dream for years…” _

_ “Too fucking bad.” Your attitude contrasts the dancehall mood and Steve feels his head start to clear a little as you move forward. _

_ “He’s a man out of time - he’s displaced. No one needs him there.” _

_ You’re already shaking your head. “You’re wrong.” _

_ Except...is she? Steve wonders. _

_ “He may be a long way from where he was born,” You argue, a familiar and stubborn set to your shoulders as you reach them. “But he’s right where he needs to be. With people who care about him.” Your eyes turn to him. “People who need you, Rogers. A whole family of superheroes who are just waiting for you to wake up so they can yell at you, and fuss over you, and I swear to god, if you think you’re going to leave me with Barnes like this...I will beat the Star-Spangled right off of you.” _

You come awake with a gasp, like breaking the surface of the water on a dive and you can tell from the commotion at the other end of the couch that Rogers is back among the living and awake.

“Hey,” Dean checks your eyes, hands on either side of your face as Nat observes. “You okay?”

You nod and pull his hands away from your cheeks before looking over at Rogers, who’s got himself half-pulled into Barnes’ lap, one flesh, one metal hand, both of them touching Rogers as if to reassure himself that he really is awake. “You back, Cap?”

Rogers nods. “Thanks, y/n.”

“How’d you get him out?” Sam asks, ever the curious one.

Rogers goes red and stiff and awkward and you laugh.

“You were right.” You tell the tallest Winchester. “He had to choose it.”

“There is  _ such _ a story we’re not getting.” Barton complains, ruffling your hair. “Glad you’re back. Both of you.”


	123. Undercover Couple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I will eventually tire of this trope, BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY

“Is this guy bothering you?” Lumberjack Joe asks, leaning against the bar on the other side of you while shooting Barnes a mean mug.

You have no idea what the man’s actual name is, but he’s big and built like a lumberjack, and he even has the beard and red flannel look going for him too.

It’s raining and cold and you and Barnes are undercover on a mission in Detroit and waiting in this absolute dive of a bar - seriously, no low rate basement bar in New York could compete, and it’s making you homesick.

Apparently your annoyance at Barnes’ increasingly obnoxious antics over the last hour was just that obvious.

Bless Lumberjack Joe - he probably thought he was doing you a favor.

Barnes is sizing up Joe, Joe is sizing up Barnes.

It's a testosterone standoff that will end in tears (yours, of boredom) and blood (theirs, obviously).

You sigh, hold up your hand with the glint of metal around the ring finger. The things you do to maintain mission-cover. “Yeah, but he’s my husband, so I signed up for it.”

Joe backs off immediately, all over shades of contrition, hands pulled back as he steps away from you.

God bless chauvinism.

You fight the urge to scowl at him as he apologies - to Barnes, for chrissakes.

"How you doing over there, darling?" Barnes asks with a wink, knowing exactly where your thoughts are. "Need me to open a door for you? Defend your honor? Ooh, order one of those fruity drinks with an umbrella in it?"

You tip some of the ice from your drink into your mouth and crush it beneath your molars. "I hate you."

"Is it really a marriage if you don't?" He asks the bartender who's been watching the exchange with open amusement.

"I'm divorcing you the minute we get home."

He gasps, clutching at his chest like you've physically hurt him. "Words hurt, y/n."

"Yeah? So will my fist when it-"

"Heads up!" Wilson's voice interrupts as your comms come back online. "Look alive in there, people. Our MC weapons dealer just pulled in to the parking lot."

Barnes waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. "Aww, come on man. She was about to threaten me with a good time."

Wilson snorts. "You two have the weirdest form of foreplay, I swear to god..."


	124. Girls Night: Mad Science

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: inspired by a conversation with my roomie (who's a PhD student right now) over lunch

“But seriously.” Pepper insists, letting out a little moan as Nat works out a knot in her shoulder and a quick ‘thanks’ as Darcy hands her a little bowl of cheese and fruit. “You have to tell me your secret.”

“What are we talking about?” Jane asks, carrying a giant bowl of popcorn in from the kitchen.

“How come the other side always has so many more STEM recruits.” Darcy answers. “Pepper wants to know their recruitment strategy.”

Your counterpart shrugs and passes Wanda the bowl of M&M’s, grinning as the chaos manipulator singles out the red ones. “Honestly, it’s super simple.”

“Is it the health care benefits?” Darcy asks and everyone laughs. “I bet it’s the health care benefits.”

“Seriously.” Pepper asks again. “How do you do it?”

“It’s easy.” Your counterpart chases one of the M&M’s floating through the air with her mouth, giving a happy smirk after catching one. “We just fully fund their grant research.”

“I’m converting to the dark side.” Jane announces.


	125. Day Job Himbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Once again, I apologize for being left over-caffienated, unsupervised, and in front of my computer after watching Ghostbusters...
> 
> I'll stop doing crossovers soon, I swear!

“Y/n,” Thor begins, leaning against the counter as you pour your second cup of coffee. “You know that I find many aspects of life on Midgard...confusing.”

You nod. “Yep. But you’ve been doing really, really well. I think spending time with Jane and Darcy has been really good for you.”

The smile he gives you at the mention of his lady-love’s name is like a mother-freaking sunbeam, and okay, you may have to remember not to audibly sigh. It's not his fault he's the prettiest Avenger, right? “It has. It is. But...well, I would like to learn more about being a..an..average mortal.”

“Okay.” You lean back against the counter, considering. “I can see that. Jane and Darcy are awesome, but neither of them is average.”

“So I thought to myself, who can I ask for advice on how to go about acquiring more humble experiences of life on Midgard? And then I thought of you - you have a depth and breadth of knowledge about life on this planet, as well as my own character, and both Loki and the Captain hold you in high esteem.” The look he gives you now is puppy-dog hopeful. “So, what can I do to have a more...common..experience here?”

“You’ve been annoying Jane while she works on her latest research project, haven’t you?” You ask, blowing gently across the surface of the coffee.

Thor nods. “I am seeking something worthwhile to fill my time with, though I also wish to experience more of your culture and ways of life.”

You think for a minute.

“You could get a job. Something small, maybe part time. You’d be able to interact with new people, learn some skills. Plus, you’d get the experience of coworkers and a boss.”

“Aha! A job! Excellent idea, y/n!”

You smile to yourself as he goes to leave, pausing just before the door.

“How...how exactly does one acquire a job?”

You laugh. “There’s a couple of ways. Let’s start with the newspaper…”

_ Later that day, at Zhu’s Authentic Hong Kong Food… _

“ Hey. Uh, I'm here about the receptionist job…”


	126. Captured

You’re helpless to stop it as the goons of the base the team is invading captures them. You can only watch from the Quinjet as one by one they’re taken out of play.

Banner goes down with a tranquilizer.

Barnes arm and Wilson’s wings go down under projectile EMPs and they’re swarmed in a matter of moments.

Stark’s suit is cracked open and fried.

Nat and Barton take a beating apiece before being marched off to a cell.

Even Rogers goes down, in no small part thanks to those stupid vibranium cuffs that S.H.I.E.L.D. made entirely too many of.

Through the comms and body cams you can at least tell everyone is alive, if separated and in a whole shitshow of their own.

You focus back on Rogers’ feed as the Grand Poobah begins his villain monologue.

“-have Mr. Stark working on a new weapon in our laboratory even now. He barely protested.” Poobah is saying, his smile dripping with smug disdain and victory. “Your Hulk is asleep. Even the famous Winter Soldier has been neutralized.”

The camera - part of Rogers’ tac gear - is shaking. After a moment, the Grand Poobah’s smile fades, replaced with confusion, then anger.

“We have you at a complete disadvantage! You are at my mercy, Captain!” The tone turns bewildered. “Why are you laughing?”

Rogers’ laughter carries through just fine. “Oh, you dumb sonovabitch.” He laughs again. “You really don’t know anything at all about Tony Stark, do you?” He continues. “That man was held in a fucking cave by terrorists who wanted him to build their weapons. You know what he did instead, with almost no supplies?”

The Grand Poobah shakes his head.

You can’t see Rogers’ face but you know that his smile has to be absolutely vicious to match the confidence in his tone. “He built the first Iron Man suit.”

Distantly, something in the base explodes and alarms begin going off.

You can see on the other cams that are still functioning that the Avengers have turned the tide.

“So now,” Rogers says, calm as can be. “You have a choice - hang around and see what he built in your - I’m sure very reasonably stocked lab - this time, or you can run for it before he, and the rest of my team, make their way here.”


	127. Post-Mission

“A blow job from a muppet could, technically, be considered a hand job.”

You and Nat both turn ‘excuse me?’ looks on Barton, who’s feet are kicked up on the dashboard of the cockpit of the quinjet. 

“What is wrong with your brain?” Nat asks finally. “And how long has Lara been helping you hide it?”

Barton shrugs, blows a bubble of gum, pops it and begins the super-attractive act of pulling the gum back into his mouth with a casual shrug. “Think about it.”

You shudder. “No. No thank you.”

Barton just shrugs again and you turn to cast an eye over the rest of your team. 

Another mission with Earth’s Mightiest Assholes complete with only minor injuries and slightly-lower-than-usual-levels of dumbassery, making for a relatively quiet flight back.

“...but Mr. Stark, what do I do?” Parker is asking.

Stark grimaces. “Look kid, I am probably the  _ last  _ person to ask about relationships. Aside from Captain Vanilla over there, of course.”

Rogers responds with an ever-mature middle finger in Stark’s direction, not even breaking away from his conversation with Barnes.

“But you’re  _ married _ . And you’re about to have a kid.” 

“Look, kid,” Stark’s exasperation is truly entertaining considering how often he provokes that reaction in those around him. “Just because I’m married to Pepper doesn’t mean I know  _ how  _ I did it.”


	128. Hashtag: Sledding

You roll your eyes as Wilson continues to cuss you out. He'll run out of steam eventually, you know, and it's not like he isn't aware that you've saved him from disaster.

Really, it's bitching for form's sake at this point, but he really is trying to sell it as you cross your arms over your chest and perch on the edge of Bob's desk with a shared eye roll between you and the head of PR as Wilson finally runs out of breath.

"So, one..." You hold up a finger. "I can't go to hell. I'm out of vacation days. And even if I wasn't, you mighty motherfuckers constantly ruin my vacation requests, so I'd just be back here anyways. Two, you had to know you wouldn't get away with posting that video."

You're met with a mutinously insincere pout that sets all the alarm bells ringing.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Wilson fidgets under your narrowing gaze, looking akin to a guilty second grader now. "You caught me. It didn't hit the web. I'm grounded - I get it."

Bob looks at you. "Oh, he's definitely up to something else."

Wilson tries to pull a stoic not-gonna-talk face, which is basically a confirmation.

"Barnes wouldn't be okay with it," Your words are for Bob as you talk it through, but your eyes are stuck on Wilson. "Not his most flattering light, you know? It would damage his scary assassin street cred. Hmm...Nat would do it, but you ate her pop tarts..." You notice sweat beading along Wilson's brow at the reminder. "Pepper would stop Stark, and Barton doesn't even know what social media _is_ half the time."

"Thank god," Bob mutters.

"Which is why you had Steve post it instead." You realize. "F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"Yes, y/n?"

"Freeze all Avengers' media accounts access for the next forty-eight hours. Override Code: Wrangler."

"Done. Will there be anything else, y/n?"

"No. Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y." You level a look at Wilson who is now visibly deflating and you know you've managed to once again keep a totally childish clusterfuck under some form of control. "I'm not angry, Wilson-"

"I am." Bob says, pointing to his face. "See this? Angry."

"I'm not angry with you. I'm just...disappointed." You point to the door. "You're grounded - literally. Get out of here."

Wilson all but slinks from the room, muttering impolite words about you and Bob and F.R.I.D.A.Y. under his breath.

You wait til the door closes to turn and share a big-ass grin with Bob. "Okay. Now that that's done, play it again."

Bob grins as big as you and starts the video up on the wall projector again.

It's a big hill, you admit, as you and Bob watch Rogers place his shield on the snow, holding it steady while Barnes clambers aboard, folding up his limbs to somehow fit inside the curvature.

Rogers gives it a push, and Barnes shoots down the hill like Clark Griswold, shrieking violently as he flies past the hysterically howling Wilson at a velocity that threatens landspeed records.

"I don't always get to say this," Bob knuckles away a tear as the video starts again, playing on loop. "But god, sometimes I love this job."


	129. Girl's Night: New Blood

Your counterpart hisses as she steals a still-too-hot cookie from the tray in the kitchen while Girls' Night unfolds past the counter and in the living room. "I'm just sayin'," She mutters around a mouthful of hot cookie dough and only a few swear words. " 'S good to have new blood at Girls' Night is all. I like Lara...or is Laura? Barton's better half," She clarifies and goes back to mixing another round of drinks.

"I don't know how she does it." You admit as the timer goes off and you pull another tray out of the oven. Bless snap-and-bake cookies. "Three kids _and_ Barton? And a _farm?_ And _Kate?"_

"How's that going, by the way?"

"Good." Your eyes move to the in-training Hawkeye who is sandwiched on the sofa between a tipsy Nat and Carol, who'd flown in just this morning for another round of R&R. She'll be gone in the morning - off to visit her girlfriend, but it's nice to see her here, laughing and having a good time. "I think Barton may hate me for introducing her to so many strong female role models, but that's on him, not me."

Your counterpart snorts and reaches for another cookie before taking a spatula to scoop the rest onto a plate. "And the one dating Parker. She's pretty cool too."

"MJ?" You clarify, and both of you look at the young woman in question who just said something that sent Pepper and Jane into a fit of giggles. "Oh yeah. I think it took like, three minutes the first time he brought her over and it was unanimous - we adopted her. She is an unofficial avenger. I think Stark might even be working on a suit for her, to be honest."

"She's grounded. Practical. Sassy. Good match for Parker."

"Yeah, well." You wince remembering last week. "She's got a temper under that, and he's pretty good at working it up. Like a volcano..."

Your counterpart chortles. "Is that why Parker had that bruise on his arm?"

You narrow your eyes at her. "When did you see Parker last week?"

She shrugs. "Loki and I ordered pizza."

"How's that going by the way?"

"Mind ya business, y/n."


	130. Royal Respect

Three quarters of the Barbershop Quartet are up and energetic by the time you drag yourself out of bed. For a moment, you hover in the doorway, weighing the value of the magical bean juice that lies on the other side of the kitchen. You could just go back to bed...it is Saturday...

Then you admit defeat to reality and shuffle into the room.

“Morning.” Rogers offers, breaking his conversation with Wilson and Barnes long enough to acknowledge your presence. “Coffee’s made.”

You make a noise somewhere between grunt and gratitude, and tune the rest of the world out as you reach for a mug and fix your first cup.

It isn’t until the first sip is coursing through you that you’re willing to tune back into the breakfast buffoonery before your eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Barnes is laughing as he catches the plum thrown at him by Rogers. “You don’t have to go getting all fancy for him. You can just use his name. Say it with me,” He taunts, stretching out the sounds “Tah-Cha-lah.”

“He’s royalty, Buck.” Rogers argues passionately. “Plus he’s actually, like, a good leader. It’s about respect.”

“Okay,” Barnes bites into the plum and sends juice flying everywhere. “First off, the man almost ran into a wall because his fiancee smiled at him. And second, am I the only one who sees the irony in that statement coming from the King of Way-past-asking-for-permission?”

Your soft snort of agreement is met with a quick quirk of lips and then Barnes turns to Wilson.

“No.” Wilson shrugs as Rogers turns betrayed eyes on him. “What? Cyborg brain is right, and the dude runs around as a fursona. Dignity’s not coming easy on that front.”

“The suit is seriously cool though.” Barnes concedes. “Oh, oh, I gotta show you this video from when Shuri first had him try this base model out…”


	131. TGIFriday

It had been a hell of a mission, and you were too tired to give a crap about the rock-paper-scissors game taking place in the front of the van as you patched up Wilson's arm.

"I'm fine," Wilson hissed as you poured antiseptic over the wound. "Promise."

"Remember when I asked for your opinion?" You shot back, grabbing the adhesive next. "Me neither. Now shut up you big baby."

Barnes hands you the dressing to go over the adhesive and make it hygenic enough for the Falcon to be able to walk into a restaurant. He's always a bit quiet when Wilson takes a hit, but the sass is coming back the further from the fight you get.

"Which one of us has super serum and heals fast?" He asks. "Me."

Wilson rolls his eyes and grabs his phone with his other hand, taps the keys for a minute and pulls up a picture that he flips around to show Barnes. "See this? This is the dead sea. It is the only thing on this earth saltier than your grumpy ass."

You huff out a laugh as you finish the dressing and the car turns into a parking lot.

"Did you..." Barnes' tone is completely offended as the team begins to pile out of the car. "Did you just laugh at Wilson's joke?"

"Aww yes." Wilson congratulates himself. "I knew it was only a matter of time til you warmed to that classic Wilson charm."

"Don't overdo it," You warn as Barnes falls into step just behind the two of you and the team walks through the door. "you might strain something."

The hostess’ eyes go wide as the team walks through the door and you can see them tense, bracing themselves for being recognized when all everyone wants is to eat an insane amount of food post-op.

“You!” She says, and you blink because that was directed not at the members of the Avengers, but at you.

“Her?” Wilson asks.

“You can’t be here!” The shock is giving way to anger. “You have a lifetime ban! You and that...that man! Get out of here! Out!”

Realization hits as you take in the decor and the pudgy manager steamrolls from the bar area, attracted by the noises of distress from the hostess.

"I'm sorry," Wilson asks, still dumbfounded. "This woman? This woman has a lifetime ban?"

"Ah," You're already easing back towards the door at the thunderous look on the manager's face as he clocks you. "Yeah. I should've mentioned it. I'm not allowed in TGIFridays after the last time I was in Jacksonville."


	132. Flirting With Danger

The sneeze catches you unprepared, nearly sending the coffee in your mug sloshing over the rim.

“Aww…” Sam  _ has _ to tease you, mostly because it pisses you off to be called anything in the synonym landscape of ‘cute’. “You sneeze so cute, with the nose wrinkle and everything. Adorable.” He added at your glare. “Bucky, wasn’t that adorable?”

He misses Barnes’ reply - a muttered sound of agreement? -as another sneeze attacks, the coffee is lost to gravity and the laws of physics, then a third sneeze as the Maximoff twins join the lazy morning breakfast club.

Wilson hasn’t spent too much time with the Maximoffs, honestly isn't sure what to make of them just yet. He knows Rogers likes them, Barton basically adopted them, and he's keenly aware of the adorable awkwardness that dominates Wanda and Vis' interactions.

It's better than a sitcom.

But Wanda seems alright, if a bit spooky-powerful. She’s been shy around him the few times they’ve interacted, but she sends him a smile now and he gives her one back in kind so she'll know she's in friendly company.

Pietro on the other hand isn’t shy at all - he’s a cocky little sonovabitch from what Sam’s seen, but if Sam could outrun just about anything on earth, he might be too. He's spent the last few months upstate with his Dad and 'his Dad's secret boyfriend' at some school for gifted kids, and if it weren't for how happy the kid makes his sister, Sam would be all too happy to ship him back.

He's pretty sure he's not alone in that regard.

Because Pietro Maximoff seems to think of himself as god's gift to women. And for the last week? He's been non-stop with the flirting and the teasing and the smoldering. All of it focused on you, the resident wrangler.

Sam's lost count of the number of times you've turned the tables on his terrible lines.

But this is the first pre-coffee one he's had the pleasure of witnessing.

This is going to be good.

“I would say god bless you,” Pietro’s playboy smile oozes charm as he looks at you. “But it’s clear he already did.”

Sam coughs into his fist as you just arch one eyebrow at Pietro, your coffee-soaked t-shirt, then back at him.

Damn cereal left a tickle in his throat.

Unfazed, the male Maximoff just leans against the counter and arches an eyebrow back at you before saying. “That wet t-shirt look works for you. You know where it would look even better?”

Wanda is shaking her head as she grabs a box of fruity pebbles and a bowl and makes her way to the table and out of the range of imminent violence.

“If you say…” Your voice could cut glass, and Sam doesn’t know if Pietro doesn’t know about the coffee rules when it comes to you, or if he’s just that sure of himself.

“On my bedroom floor.”

Sam should warn him. That would be the teammate thing to do, right?

He’s about to open his mouth when Bucky’s hand lets out a little whine and he releases that metal fist to reveal a completely strangled utensil.

“What’s up with you?” He asks, focusing on his partner in crime as the sounds of violent action drift over from the kitchen.

“Nothing.” Bucky scowls at the now-useless-spoon as Pietro yelps. “Must be time for Stark to take a look at it.”

A second later, you stroll past the table on your way back to your room and slide Bucky a new one, barely a pause in your step.

Sam watches you go, then turns back to see Pietro - with a rapidly swelling bottom lip - sulking as he takes a seat at the table.

“What?” Wanda openly laughs at her brother. “You didn’t see that coming?”


	133. A Monster

“Steve,” Nat’s eyes are wide and a little breathless as she stares at him helplessly from across the table. “I’ve always loved you like family. Please. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t do this.”

Rogers’ grin is practically a smirk and you can’t help the little shiver that runs through you from your own seat.

This was all Stark’s fault - he’d started this, and he’d created a monster out of America’s Golden Boy before ditching to check on Pepper, who was due literally any day now, and now you and the team were trapped, stuck in your chairs around the table as Rogers' brilliant tactical mind focused on your individual and collective destruction.

You were used to seeing Rogers' ruthless side in the field, and even occasionally off it.

But this?

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

“I told you,” Barnes grumbled, shooting all of you death glares. “No one believed me, but I  _ told  _ you.”

“Less 'I told you so',” Wilson huffed, surveying his own options. Was that...you focused your eyes a little more...was Wilson actually sweating a little? “More helping me out of this.”

Barnes snorts but he’s already looking at Wilson’s situation.

“Honestly,” Banner confesses from the other side of you. “I had no idea he was this competitive.”

And you watch Nat’s head slump in defeat as Rogers places a hotel on Boardwalk Place.


	134. All My Exes...P2

“Where’s your partner?” You ask the cute but blind lawyer next to you and Murdock gives you a genuine soft smile as the bar association’s charity continues around you.

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

Your groan makes him chuckle, the sound almost lost under the noise of the charity event playing out around you. “I meant the pretty one, Murdock.”

“Are you saying Foggy isn’t pretty?” Elektra asked, smile warm as she joined the two of you.

“Foggy is a cinnamon roll.”

“I would’ve thought you’d peg Karen as the cinnamon roll.” Matt joked, his hand moving to cover Elektra’s in an unconscious gesture of affection. 

You laughed. “Matt, have you actually  _ met _ Karen? Woman does not fuck about.”

Elektra makes a little hum of agreement. “Matty here does have a type.”

“I’m wounded.” Murdock clutches his chest in mock pain. “Wounded, I tell you.”

“I told you you shouldn’t have gone after those Russian gangsters last night.” Foggy hisses as he joins your little group.

Elektra laughs.

“I was just kidding, Foggy.” Murdock explains. “But by all means, advertise my...extracurriculars in a ballroom full of lawyers. Please. It’s not like I wear a mask or anything for this reason.”

“There’s nothing so private as a crowd.” You point out.

“Yeah,” Elektra agrees, smile turning wicked. “Plus, your face isn’t the most memorable part of that ridiculous get up. Can’t mask that ass,” She sighs fondly as she snags canapes from a passing waiter.

Foggy just looks at Murdock, then you, then Elektra and it takes a little effort not to laugh at the long-suffering acceptance on his face. “I’m going to go find Marcy.”

You manage to keep it to one small chortle as he walks away, and catch one of Murdock’s rare but sharp smiles.

“And you,” Murdock turns to his off-again-on-again girlfriend. “Please refrain from objectifying me like a piece of meat? At least in this semi-professional setting.”

“Am I wrong?” Elektra bats her lashes up at him, the picture of insincere innocence. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Matty’s ass?”

“Nice enough,” You’d be lying if you tried to pretend the little flush creeping up under Murdock’s collar wasn’t entertaining. “I mean, not everyone could pull off the red leather look. Short list, really.”

“Mhmm.” Elektra moves her hand smoothly down his back and Murdock actually jumps a bit as her hand grabs aforementioned anatomy. “Shame he likes to hide it in these terrible suits. One afternoon of shopping with me…”

“Okay. You two clearly aren’t going to behave, so I’m going to go. Over there.” Despite the words, Murdock’s hand squeezes Elektra’s as he slips away from the pair of you.

“He’s good for you,” You observe as your ex gives a little happy sigh.

“He’s complicated.” There’s enough weight to sink the island of Manhattan in that one descriptor. “And so dramatic.”

“Pot meet kettle.” You rub at your now-sore shoulder. “Oww. Rude.”

“What about you? I heard you were seeing Billy Russo for a hot minute, before the FBI and Castle came down on him like a ton of bricks. And there was rumor about that trickster god - Lucky? Luigi?”

You laugh and make a note to call him that the next time you see him. “Loki. His name is Loki.”


	135. Guys Night P2

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

Your heart is racing - actually racing - as you finally reach the right level of the Tower. Leave it to Earth's Mightiest Boy Band to knock out the power _now_ of all times.

You aren't even going to ask what they did this time, you swear to yourself as you reach the living room where the bi-monthly Guys Night is taking place and slide across the floor.

Why is the floor slippery? No, you tell yourself. No time for questions now. "Stark!"

"Y/n?" Stark is working within a panel, illuminated by a mix of emergency lights and his gauntlet. You will not ask why there is...you aren't going to ask what...smeared across his face. "I swear, I'll have the power back on in two minutes. Three. Okay, maybe ten. Make yourself a drink, then you can yell at me."

"No no no no." Wilson is already moving to shove you back from whence you came. "No women at Guys Night. Respect the rule."

"Stark..."

"He'll fix it." Barnes promises, moving to take your other arm.

You shake Birdbrain and Tin Man loose. "Stark, get the power back on. NOW."

"Calm your..." Barnes lets the end of the sentence trail off under the look you level at him.

"Stark?"

"Gimme a minute." Comes the gruff reply. "Jesus, what's the big deal? It's just an overload-"

"Pepper's in labor."

"What?!" Stark is halfway out of the panel in a second. "Bury the lead much?"

"Stark, the power..."


	136. Baby Stark

"It looks like a potato." Wilson observes, the latest to join the party in the medical wing. "An angry, red, potato."

"She." Stark corrects without looking away from his wife or baby. They paint a pretty picture, Papa Bear leaning over the edge of the bed to push back sweat-damp hair out of Pepper's face, both their eyes glued to the swaddled bundle in Pepper's arms.

"Whatever." Wilson shrugs as Parker slides in through the doors.

"Is she here? Am I late? I'm late, aren't I? Is everyone okay?"

MJ is half a step behind him, places a hand on Parker's shoulder as both crutch and restraint. "Sorry. Traffic."

"Should've let me swing us uptown."

"Only if you wanted to show up covered in puke." MJ retorts. "Oh my god. How?" She asks, looking at Pepper. "You're like, literally glowing. How?"

"Drugs." Pepper's smile is soft, and a little loose around the edges. "Lots and lots of drugs and like, a shit-ton of endorphins."

"Language." The joke comes from multiple mouths and smiles go around as Parker crowds close, awe all over his face.

"What's her name?" Parker asks.

"Morgan." Pepper shifts a little. "You want to hold her?"

You watch as Pepper hands off Baby Stark with gentle confidence, smiling at the nerves displayed by Parker. Boy can literally dive off a building, catch the damsel of the week, and set her down with nary a hair out of place, but his hands are trembling and uncertain as he holds Morgan, who scrunches up her little baby nose and continues to sleep.

It takes a few minutes, but gradually Parker relaxes, conversation resumes, and you let it wash over you - happy background noise after the last few hours as Earth's Mightiest Heroes traded theories about the newest addition to the family.

"She's never going to date." Stark says as Parker hands the baby off to Nat.

"Tony," Pepper starts.

"Don't 'Tony' me, Pepper." Stark scowls at his wife. "I'm her Dad. I get a say in this."

"I'll give you a twelve percent say." Pepper tugs his t-shirt, pulls him down for a sweet kiss and you and Barton both make faces as Nat begrudgingly hands Morgan to Rogers.

Oh the look of longing on Rogers' face...It hits like a punch to the solar plexus as Nat turns the conversation, pulls attention away from the super soldier and the tiny bundle.

Rogers never talks about having kids.

"Are you...singing?" Barton asks Rogers, following your gaze.

Rogers colors red to the tips of his ears. "So what?"

"You were singing 'Bay-bee Stark, do do...'." Barton accuses.


	137. Entertainment

It's not that Peter Parker is a troublemaker, per se.

In fact, by comparison, he's one of the more easy-going of your charges.

Sure, he's sarcastic as hell and okay, he does have a tendency to attract trouble. But that's not his fault. And between grad school, his day job, and his deepening relationship with a snappy no-bullshit young woman that you've all secretly adopted, it's not like he often has time to start shit.

But it's term break now, and Parker's been spending some QT at the Tower - not a rare occurrence since Morgan was born - and that's how you find yourself watching Parker silently creep across the ceiling over Wilson and Barnes who are exchanging ideas about how to pass the rainy, cold day over breakfast at the kitchen counter.

He waits, above them.

Neither one notices.

Then, as Barnes glances away to see you standing in the doorway and Wilson moves to shovel more food into his mouth, eyes intent on the generous scoop of eggs from his plate, Parker makes his move.

He 'thwaps' Wilson across the back of the head.

The eggs go flying.

Like a scene from the Three Stooges, Wilson turns, sees Barnes - the only person in sight and physical range - and draws the exact conclusion Parker was counting on.

"Oh, it's like that, mother-" Wilson launches himself at Barnes, who's just as quick to defend himself.

You shake your head and trail the laughing Spiderman from the room into the hallway, where he stops, giggling to himself, still sticking to the ceiling.

"Parker."

He visibly starts. "Oh, hey, y/n."

The sounds of fighting behind you intensify, and there's a crash that you're reasonably sure was the entire breakfast spread being thrown to the floor. A half second later there's a much more singular crash and the wafting smell of coffee - no doubt spilled over too many square feet - drifts to the hall.

"My office. Apparently I need to explain to you in painstaking detail how much of a dumbass you are."

"Do I...Do I have a choice?"

"No."


	138. Agent Doolittle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: THE COFFEE HAS ARRIVED!!! I am finally caffeinated for the first time in days, and did I not have to work, I would write another novel or two...

“Loki,” You warn the too-smug trickster god. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Too late.” He looks down at his phone, face softening enough to tell you who’s texting him. “Well, must go. Great to see you, y/n. Brother, I will see you next week.”

And then he vanishes, as if he was never there.

Asshole, you think bitterly and then look back at the living room, feeling your nerves fray as all eyes move to you.

You knew it was too soon for Loki and Thor to be having their weekly sibling check-ins at the Tower. Knew it. But your counterpart had sworn up and down the isle of Manhattan that Loki would be on his best behavior - there was a Baby Stark in residence, after all, and he wasn’t a  _ complete _ bastard - and she’d even promised to take on Eddie Brock duty solo the next time he came out here for some interview for his youtube channel.

You had to admire her cunning - she knew what bait to use to get you to say yes.

And it had all been going  _ so _ well.

Until Loki had gone to leave, Thor escorting him out through the common area, and then Wilson opened his mouth and now...

Oh god. Oh. God.

You’re going to murder him, your counterpart’s happiness be damned, you think, as the huge golden retriever on the couch gives you a pathetic whine and a blue-eyed stare as his tail beats against the couch cushions.

From the other side of the couch, the sleek black cat with hints of murderous red in her fur finishes washing her paw and gives the dog a disdainful look.

There’s a surprised and querulous chirp from the peregrine falcon, who has just fumbled right off the couch and a huff of laughter from the all-white wolf with arctic eyes next to him.

“I’m going to murder him.” You taste the words. They feel right. “I’m going to stab him. Many times.”

Thor pats your shoulder, his smile commiserating. “It’s alright, y/n. The spell should wear off in a couple of days.”

“I’m still going to stab him.”

"He'll probably take it as a sign of affection."

The falcon - or is The Falcon still? - flaps his wings in warning as Barnes’ lupine nose sniffs at his feathers and Rogers flops his retriever body onto his back, belly exposed, with a wiggle clearly inviting belly rubs.

You sigh. “Get my camera, Thor. If I’m going to be babysitting Earth’s Mightiest Animals, I might as well get some blackmail material out of it.”


	139. The Hero Gotham Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Snippet that popped into my head and refused to go away

Your eyes roll as the ending monologue closes out and the credits begin to roll. “I’m just saying - Gotham doesn’t need some billionaire working out his orphan anger issues in a batsuit. It needs OSHA and social services.”

Your counterpart giggles helplessly. “Oh my god. You're not wrong."

“She’s got a point.” Pepper agrees as Darcy puts the finishing touches on her toe nail polish paint job. Girls’ Night had been unanimously turned into impromptu spa-night as well the minute Pepper had been able to get MJ and Parker to babysit, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen Pepper Potts so  _ relieved _ in your entire tenure at the Tower. “With a robust education system, decent child protective services, and some basic safety precautions...most of the villains probably would’ve ended up like Tony.”

“There’s a thought.” Nat polishes off her wine with one hearty gulp and a slight shudder. "Could the world handle more than one Stark?"

“So does that mean Mr. Stark is, like, one bad accident away from being a supervillain?” Darcy wonders.

"Why do you think Stark Industries is so regulation compliant? And has an entire department dedicated to incident process improvement?" Pepper replies. "I know who I married."


	140. Endless Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Credit to iloveyouthree-thousand from tumblr atiloveyouthree-thousand.tumblr.com for this BRILLIANT idea

“Were you ever going to tell me?!” Parker cried, voice filled with anguish and audible even from inside the fishbowl conference room feet away from where you and Barton watched.

Barton offered you the trail mix bag, scowling as you dug out the M&M’s.

“What’s going on?” Nat asked, hands up as a still-glaring Barton turned to her. “Jeeze, forget I asked.”

“What? Oh, no.” Barton dropped the scowl as Nat dropped into one of the chairs next to you. “Just tuning in for today’s telenova episode. Swear to god,” He mutters, mostly to himself. “TV can’t even compare to this place.”

“We’re just watching Parker find out Happy’s real name.” You explain at Nat’s lifted eyebrow.

“-didn’t mean to lie to you, kid. I thought you knew! I swear!” Happy’s expression is almost as distraught as Parker’s. The rest of the world might as well not exist for all the angst between the two of them right now.

“This is some quality drama,” You add, and Barton nods as Parker replies.

“ _ Years _ . I spent  _ years _ believing you were someone else!”

“Oh, oh, here come the waterworks.” Barton predicts and holds the trail mix bag out to Nat in offering.

On cue, Parker’s eyes begin to water.

“Shit.” Happy swears. “No. Not the crying. Please. I’ll buy you an ice cream - a pony - a cheeseburger? Just…please...don’t. Don’t cry...”

“I don’t even know who you  _ are _ any more,  _ Harold _ .” Parker’s bottom lip wobbles.

“Oh now that’s a low blow.” Nat adds “Adding the lip quiver.” She whistles. “I have taught you well, young padawan.”

Now Happy’s eyes are filling with tears. “I never meant to hurt you, Peter, you gotta believe me…”

“What’s going on in here?” Pepper asks, stepping into the room. “Peter, why are you crying? Happy? What’s happening?”

“Oh, I’m just finding out that I’ve been lied to all this time.” Parker whiplashes from sad to angry so fast it would make someone who wasn’t used to melodrama’s pull a Linda Blair. “Did you know about this? That ‘Happy’,” He sneers. “Isn’t even his real name?”

“Ah…” Pepper’s eyes are wide, ping ponging between the two of them. “I’m just gonna...go…”

“Oh no you don’t.” Happy - mild, accommodating Happy - puts his foot down. “I’ve tried to explain it to the kid, but he won’t listen to me.”

“Cause you’re a liar!” Parker shouts, dramatic as hell.

“Nicknames aren’t lies,” Pepper tries.

“Oh this is gonna be good…” Sam says from over your shoulder and you spook, much to his amusement. Barnes takes advantage, reaching over your other shoulder and steals a couple M&M's from your hand. “Wait for it, wait for it…”

Parker is gaping at Pepper, having somehow put it together. “Your name isn’t Pepper?  _ Is no one who they say they are?  _ What is your real name??”

“Virginia.”

Parker just blinks for a moment. “That doesn’t...that doesn’t even make  _ sense _ .”

“He’s got a point.” Barton admits.

“Close your mouth when you chew.” You remind him as Banner joins. 

“What’s-”

“Big drama. Little spider.” Nat explains.

Barnes extrapolates at Banner’s look of confusion. “Parker just found out Pepper and Happy’s actual names.”

“Oh.” Banner looks back at the conference room. “That’s a lot of angry gesticulating. I think I’ll just...go back to the lab…”

“Do you think Parker knows Banner’s real first name is Robert?” You ask the room as Banner flees. “He’s a pretty big science nerd. He’s gotta know that, right?”

Rhodey and Stark are next off the elevator, both stopping short at the sight of Pepper and Happy being confronted by a still-emotionally-charged Parker. They bump fists and Stark heads for the conference room while Rhodey makes for you all.

“How long’s that been going on?” He asks. “What did Mini-Tony do?”

“It’s not what he did. It’s what he found out.” Barton does not offer his trail mix, eyes narrowing on the name tag on Rhodey’s shirt. “Why does your name tag say ‘Jim’?”

“Conference. There’s always at  _ least  _ two other James in the room so it’s just easier.” Rhodey shrugs, unbothered.

“The kid was right…” Barton mutters.


	141. Convenient Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Short snippet today folks

"And you're sure you don't remember any of this?" You ask, tone laden with suspicion as Steve rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head.

"Nope. Nothing." Your eyes have narrowed on him and he knows you don't buy it. "Seriously!"

"Remember what?" Nat asks, appearing with her signature stealth and glancing around Steve to the photos on the table. "Ooh, cute animals! Wait...is this what Loki did to us?"

He can't let you see how close he is to breaking a relieved sweat as you relax marginally. "Yeah."

"We didn't do anything super embarrassing did we?" He makes himself ask.

You shrug. "No more than usual."

"Good. That's, ah. Good."

Apparently satisfied, you shrug and head back to your office.

Nat's eyes say she's laughing at him as she asks the question. "Why are we pretending we don't remember being animals?"

"Shhhh..." Steve's eyes cut to the hallway, making sure you actually are out of hearing range.

"All you did was play Frisbee with the shield for a couple hours." Nat reminds him, clearly amused. "It's not like what Barnes did."

"Wait, what did Barnes do?"

"I'll tell you," Nat promises, "If you tell me what it is you don't want y/n to know you remember."

The need to know wars with protective instincts in a short but bloody internal battle, and then he nods.

"The idiot saw himself in the mirrored hallway and thought he was some other wolf." Nat tells him, smug and smirking. "He snarled at himself for a good twenty minutes. And he thought the round ikea lamp was the moon and spent half the night howling at it. Off key." Then she wiggles her fingers at him in a 'gimme' motion. "Pay up."

"It's nothing."

"You trying to welch?" One eyebrow arches in challenge.

"No! It's just..." He can feel his cheeks turning red, face heating, and not for the first time, curses his Irish complexion. "I may have...cuddled...with y/n."

"Oh, Rogers," There's a reason Nat was turned into a cat - the smile on her face is practically feline already. "You gave her those literal puppy dog eyes didn't you?" She laughs as his face heats again, and ears too this time. "You sly dog."


	142. A Song In My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Okay, there's really no excuse for this, but it's going to take up the next couple of chapters because once it started, it just wouldn't stop
> 
> #pleasedonthatemetoomuch

Even your counterpart is a little stunned by Loki’s latest prank. “And more importantly,  _ why?” _

The fallen Prince of Asgard shrugs his black-suited shoulders. “Why not?”

“What if there’s an actual threat?” The fact that Loki steps backwards under your narrowing gaze does nothing to quell the concern in your chest. “What about that, oh genius prankster? Are they just supposed to...tap dance their way through battle?”

“I put in an override component in the spell.” He offers, as if that in some way makes up for the chaos he’s unleashed. “All you have to do is say that  _ absurd _ catchphrase and it will break so long as there is an actual imminent threat.” Your counterpart tugs him back into the building as his brow wrinkles in confusion. “It’s harmless as pranks go…”

She shuts the door in his face, leaving the pair of you standing on the stoop to contemplate your next moves.

You blow out a slow breath and pinch the bridge of your nose as the sounds on the street continue behind you, mundane and welcome after the noises of the Tower this morning when Loki’s prank had taken hold. “I guess I should be grateful he left us out of it.”

Your counterpart nods. “I had no idea he was planning something this...elaborate.”

“What do you think are the odds that Strange is unaffected?” You ask.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

  
  


“I know he’s your boyfriend,” You announced, hand covering your eyes as you lay sprawled across your bedroom floor. “But I’m going to make him regret this.”

“Is it really that bad?” Your counterpart asked, voice muffled by the couch cushion she was laying facedown on before she propped herself up on an elbow. “I mean, it could’ve been much worse. At least it’s only show tunes. And everyone can actually sing in-key.”

Strange had been singularly unhelpful, and that was saying something. He’d been unable to give you any real answers - Loki’s prank apparently included the good Doctor as one of the targets for reasons you weren’t going to ask about. Wong promised to call if/when things changed in the Sanctuary.

You and your counterpart had left him singing to the new sorcerer apprentices - apprentici? - about ‘pure imagination’ in a way that would have put Wilder to shame and made your way back to the Tower. 

Where you’d promptly been serenaded by every artificial intelligence unit in the living quarters. 

You would never be able to watch that scene from Beauty & the Beast again without hearing Dum-E trilling along to ‘be our guest’.

At least F.R.I.D.A.Y. had responded to your quarantine commands. None of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes were coming or going until this stupid prank had run its course.

“I suppose it will make excellent blackmail material.” You admitted. “And at least everyone except Strange was already here, so containment isn’t going to be an issue.”

“See?” Your counterpart shot you an uncertain smile. “How long can the spell-prank last, anyways?”

You dropped your arm by your side, glared up at the ceiling. "And more importantly, which musicals has Loki been watching most recently?"

"Uh...He's kind of obsessed with them." Your counterpart informed you.

"This is gonna be a long...however long this is gonna be, isn't it?"


	143. ASIMH: Anything You Can Do...

“Uh, Clint can’t come to the phone right now.” You tell Barton’s wife as you watch him and Nat move through the training course.

You’ll give the ex-assassins this much - their lung capacity has to be superb to move at that pace and still have breath to sing.

“I'll give you a lesson in marksmanship,” Clint tosses over his shoulder.

Lara’s voice is amused, but just a hint concerned. She knows you wouldn’t be as relaxed as you are if something were truly  _ wrong. _ “Just tell me my husband is alive.”

“Not if he keeps taunting Nat like that.” You mutter as Nat sings back her retort.

“Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you!”

“Is that...singing...in the background?” Lara asks. “Is...Is my husband  _ singing?” _

“He’s alive! Will let you know when the quarantine is lifted!” And then you hang up.

Not your finest moment, you can admit, but it’s been a rough couple hours since you’d implemented quarantine. Your counterpart had been given a free pass with the promise to convince Loki to lift the curse-slash-prank-slash-spell sooner, with many dire threats to body parts he valued.

“No, you can't,”

“Yes, I can!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, blow out a short breath. At least the effects seem to be limited to those of Avenger-like status. And it’s not all the time - thank you for that small mercy, Loki - so you have a small chance of maintaining your sanity.

You’re still keeping the quarantine though - after a brief, but necessary, conference call with Bob, it was decided to be for the best. 

Not that an Avengers: Musical Edition wouldn’t kill on Tik Tok.

You just couldn’t promise Bob that they wouldn’t do anything that wouldn’t get them in trouble with the FCC.

It may have helped that Wilson had been singing a particular number from Avenue Q quite loudly in the hallway to Rogers about the uses of the internet...

“Anything you can be I can be greater!”

So.

Here you were.

Stuck with musically-infected Avengers. Complete with choreography too, if the incidences so far could be believed.

“Any note you can reach, I can go higher - I can sing anything higher than you.”

You sighed again.

You really were going to hurt Loki for this.


	144. ASIMH: For Good

_ “I've heard it said,”  _ Wilson says, handing Barnes another piece of weaponry from the floor where Barnes has been cleaning his cache. _ “That people come into our lives…” _

You nearly spill the coffee you’re carrying by the door, stop, and look, despite your better judgement.

_ “And we are led to those,”  _ Wilson is continuing while Barnes just continues to stoically and silently reassemble his favorite - one of three - sniper rifles. _ “Who help us most to grow if we let them...And we help them in return…” _

“I am not caffeinated enough for this.” You whisper.

It’s the morning after the first day, and Loki’s spell is still going strong.

You’re going to strangle that mischief-making motherfucker. 

Earth’s Mightiest Acapella had made for a tonally pleasant evening. Or well, at least until Thor got a little too into the mead and broken into a drunken rendition of ‘You’ve got a friend in me’.

And you hadn’t quite realized that the middle of the night was prime time for the stirring solo’s to be brought out.

Hence the bags under your eyes.

Not that Wanda didn’t have a lovely voice, but being woken from a dead sleep by her tremendous belting of ‘Into the Unknown’ hadn’t exactly left you in a great mood this morning.

Your counterpart had apologized when you’d called her while you waited for the coffee to finish. Apparently, Loki was aware of how much shit he was swimming in and had done the most in-character thing for him to do in this performance.

He’d vanished.

Your counterpart’s irritation only slightly mollifying your anger, you’d listened to her promises to get you answers sooner rather than later before hanging up and proceeding with your coffee back to your room. Your intention had been to fall back into bed - god, you were still finding dog hair from Retriever-Rogers in your comforter - and catch up on your sleep.

You realized you were staring, had been for a good minute or so, but neither one of them noticed you. Hmm...You thought back, putting pieces together...

“It’s a scene.” You realized, feeling somewhat stupid. “Unless someone disturbs the scene, it’s like they’re not there. Huh.” You wondered if you intervened if it counted as a fourth wall break, then decided you didn't care.

Well, that was one piece of the puzzle.

The rest could wait til after coffee.

And a nap.

The thought of a nap got your feet moving again, leaving Wilson’s voice trailing behind you.

_ “But I know I'm who I am today...Because I knew you” _


	145. ASIMH: That Would Be Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So all musical related chapters will be labeled 'ASIMH: _song title_' for those of you not into the musical prank- you'll be able to see when it's over (I wouldn't hold your breath tho...I'm having too much fun over here! 😘)

It’s been two days, and you’re almost used to the people around you bursting into song.

“Look around, look around…”

Okay,  _ used to _ might not be the right words, but you’re able to brush it off and move on with your day.

But the soft, dulcet noises coming from the living room have kept your feet from moving one inch past the hallway and into the mutual space where Pepper and Tony could see you. Even knowing Barnes is coming towards you can’t make your feet move.

“Look around,” Pepper sings softly, crouched in front of Tony and staring up at him with adoration. “At how lucky we are to be alive right now.”

Barnes scowls at you and moves to move around you, stopping to glare at you when your arm flashes out in front of him. It softens as you jerk your head towards the number unfolding feet away and he eases back slightly.

“The fact that you're alive is a miracle. Just stay alive, that would be enough.”

Okay, you might not  _ kill  _ Loki, you decide as you fold your arms over your chest and Barnes mirrors you, leaning against the opposite wall. 

“And if this child...Shares a fraction of your smile...Or a fragment of your mind…”

There have been a few heartfelt moments over the last couple of days that have been...well, kind of  _ nice _ …Not that you’ll ever  _ tell _ Loki that.

Still, there’s a vulnerability to some of these moments that just wouldn’t have happened without this prank. There are, you think to yourself with a small smile, as Pepper’s voice continues, moments that the words don’t reach.

“I'm not afraid,” Pepper’s hand slides up to cup Tony’s cheek and you watch the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist all but melt as his wife continues, “I know who I married. So long as you come home at the end of the day...That would be enough.”

‘Are you crying?’ Barnes mouths and you flip him the bird.

‘It’s dusty,’ You lip back and see him roll his eyes before they go back to the couple and the closing lines reach your ears.

“And we could be enough…” You watch Stark’s eyes close and you’ve seen less reverence in houses of worship than you see on his face for his wife as Pepper finishes the song. “That would be enough.”

For a moment, you see such naked longing on Barnes’ face as he watches them that it causes your breath to catch.

“I’m just...gonna go...back that way.” Barnes whisper-coughs, not looking at you as he turns abruptly.

For a second you want to follow, make sure he’s okay, but Stark staggers to his feet, holding Pepper’s hands in his own and the movement draws your attention back to the room.

He raises her hands up, presses a soft kiss to the back of each, and murmurs, “I love you three thousand.”


	146. ASIMH: I Know I Have A Heart

“Make it stop.” You whimpered, dropping your head into your hands.

It was nearly the end of the third day of this and sometime around lunch, things had gotten progressively more melancholy.

And while you might take a little bit of pride in your ruthless ability to wrangle Earth’s Mightiest Assholes, that didn’t mean you were without a heart - and the last few numbers had put a beating on the poor muscle.

Rogers had been going through his things in his room and the next thing you knew, he was singing ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables’ in a truly sob-worthy melancholy while holding pictures of the Howling Commandos.

And then Stark had seen the picture of Peggy Carter - his godmother - and slipped neatly into ‘Alabanza’ without so much as a pause. 

You would never unhear the heartbreak in the simple line ‘ When she was here, the path was clear.’ as Pepper and Nat joined in for the chorus.

You’d decided discretion was the better part of valor and hid out in your room when Wanda started to sing ‘I’ll Cover You - Reprise’.

There were limits.

You were only mortal, after all.

But by afternoon you were going a little cabin-fever-y and had decided it was worth the risk to head to the gym and get in a good workout.

You should have known better.

“.. was too smart for this..” Nat sang from the middle of the empty gym.

“Damn you, Andrew Lloyd Weber,” You growled under your breath.

“I was fine on my own...Made of steel, hard as stone…”

Your phone dinged, alerting you to an incoming text.

VW: How you doing?

AW: Your boyfriend’s prank will be my villain origin story

VW: LOL

VW: ...Wait, you’re joking right?

VW: ...Y/n?????

You felt your lips curve up in a smirk and decided to let your counterpart sweat a little while you got in your own sweat session.

A good hour - and many reps - later you glanced back at your phone.

VW: Y/n???

VW: You were joking. Right?

VW: Call me. Now!

You glanced at the call log and couldn't resist the grin at the number of missed calls. 

The texts continued.

VW: I put out an all call, but word's got around - no villain wants to risk catching the musical flu.


	147. ASIMH: A Fine Fine Line/All I Ask

“ There's a fine, fine line...Between a lover, and a friend.”

“Will they just bang already?” Wilson whined, stealing your danish from between your fingers.

You glared at him, but were already reaching for another jam filled treat. “I know.”

If you had to hear one more supposedly-unrequited love song from America’s Ass and the Grumpiest Soldier…

Well, you weren’t  _ entirely  _ sure what you would do, but it would be drastic. Maybe 'trapped in an elevator' drastic.

“ I guess if someone doesn't love you back, it isn't such a crime…”

You and Wilson let out near identical groans.

“How can two idiots be  _ so  _ in love with each other and  _ so oblivious?”  _ Wilson demanded.

“And there's a fine, fine line...Between what you wanted, And what you got.”

You could  _ feel  _ your teeth grinding down on each other. “I do not know.”

Wilson snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit that you didn’t know something.”

“I only act like I know everything, Wilson.” You pushed away from the counter. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to go for a swim. No one can sing underwater.”

“I’m gonna kill that frozen, popsicle, drama queen.” You promised yourself, stalking back to your room. “I said it before, but I really mean it this time.”

Pietro had joined you for a swim - mostly to get away from Wanda for a little bit, you suspected - and had in fact burst out into song. Unfortunately, super speed did not apply to the situation and now ‘Under the Sea’ was going to be stuck in your head for at least another hour, despite the fact that you’d put on your headphones and played the punchiest pop music you could find until the sun went down and your skin was pruning and you’d had to admit that the balcony pool was feeling chillier by the minute. 

Then F.R.I.D.A.Y. had alerted you to the fact that Barnes was having a nightmare. Rogers, she’d informed you, was already there, which meant you had time to change.

Trading swimsuit for comfy sweats, you made your way back towards Barnes’ room.

You should’ve known, you thought with a sigh as you leaned against the doorway.

“-ore talk of darkness, Forget these wide-eyed fears,” Rogers was sitting in the bed beside Barnes, holding him “I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you…”

The sheer look of trust on Barnes’...the adoration and concern written over Rogers’...

“You all are going back to therapy when this is over.” You grumbled, and walked away before you could intrude any further in the moment.


	148. ASIMH: Ensemble

You raise your eyebrows as Barton slides across the floor with dramatic flourish.

“She is stalking the halls, For the thrill of the kill…”

Day four of the prank, and the intervals between interludes have been getting shorter. 

In theory, this is a good sign. It means the curse/spell/prank is probably burning through whatever power source Loki used. Or at least, so speculated the scientists on the other side of your twice-daily briefing calls.

In reality…

Your day had been full of the most entertaining numbers so far.

The Ensembles.

Breakfast had broken out into ‘Dancing Queen’ - sung to Rogers by the entire Avengers population in residence. Eat your heart out, Meryl Streep.

Then it had slid right into Jailhouse Tango with the original, founding Avengers.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn't enjoyed that  _ immensely _ . You may have - and by may have, you meant absolutely - taken a perverse kind of pleasure in recording it on your phone. Bob was going to get a kick out of that one too, you were sure of it.

And right now...right now Barton was leading a tribute to Nat ala Mean Girls with ‘Apex Predator’ while said woman watched on with a decidedly feline contentment.

“She can smell your fear, in this biosphere! She's the apex predator.”

Your phone rang - your counterpart checking in and you took it as a good enough reason to slide unnoticed from the room.

“How’s it going?”

“Well enough.” The quiet of your own room beckoned you. “Current theories are that the ensembles mean we’re coming up on the end of this damn thing.”

“Small blessings?”

“Do you count ‘La Vie Boheme’ as a small or a blessing?” You asked, laughing at her gasp. “Upside, I don’t think I’ve seen Banner smile that much in a loooong time.”


	149. ASIMH: Curtain Call

"There's only us," Tony clasped his hand in Rogers with a grin that was answered.

"There's only this." Rogers other hand drags Barnes close to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Forget regret or life is yours to miss."

"No other road." Wilson's hand comes down on Barnes' shoulder.

"No other way." Barton smirks as Nat joins in.

"No day but todaaayyy."

Maria's smile is a smug smirk from the laptop as the number closes out and Earth's Mightiest Assholes break into good-natured ribbing on the balcony. "I'm gonna tell 'em."

Loki had finally reappeared and confirmed to your counterpart that his prank had worn off sometime late last night.

"Don't you dare." You chide, hearing another voice from the living room. "Hold on...I'm going to call you right back."

You leave Hill sputtering behind you as you follow the sound into the other room.

A red and black gloved hand presses against the balcony door as Deadpool gazes out at the team on the patio, laughing and rehashing moments from the last week. “-ish I could be…Part of your wooooorrrrrld.”


	150. Straight faced

“Oh no,” Strange confirmed, face the picture of seriousness. “They’re absolutely remnants from the dark dimension.”

Barnes is looking back and forth between the two of you with open skepticism.

Wilson’s shoulders are shaking, face buried in one hand that covers the lower half of his face.

Rogers clearly doesn’t want to look like a fool, but he trusts you, and he has no reason not to trust Strange. But it’s clear he’s also reading Bucky’s mistrust as well. “You’re...you’re sure?”

You nod.

Strange nods.

Wong nods, holding an example of said ‘they’ with a mix of disdain and exasperation, arm extended as if to keep it as far from himself as physically possible.

“Furbies are from another dimension.” Barnes rolls the words around in his mouth like he can physically separate truth from fiction. It’s a question still, despite the way it’s worded.

You nod again.

Strange nods again.

Wilson loses it, laughter breaking free finally.


	151. Couples Therapy

“Did you bring us here to kill us?” Wilson crosses his arms over his chest as Barnes eyes the building in front of the three of you with outright suspicion and hostility.

“Why would I bring you  _ here  _ to kill you?” You somehow manage to keep your tone conversational, and refrain from sighing.

It’s as nondescript a building as any in New York - nothing to distinguish it from its neighbors. A boring box of a structure, and steady flow of foot traffic. Nothing at all to suggest it as an ideal location for murder.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Barnes muttered.

“Uh, because if I did it at the Tower I could have F.R.I.D.A.Y. erase the footage and use the industrial cleaners from the facilities crew to get rid of the evidence.”

The dynamic duo just stare at you for a minute.

The quiet is nice, you muse, watching the pedestrians around you. Pleasant even.

“Just how much thought have you given to murdering us all?” Barnes finally asks.

You roll your eyes. “Have you met you?”

“Wouldn’t the cleaning crew wonder what happened?” Wilson’s voice is incredulous.

“Again, I repeat: have you met you?” You scoff. "Honestly, I think they'd throw me a party. You all are killer to clean up after."

They both stare at you some more.

Your phone lets out a chirp and you glance at the screen. “Okay, you’re gonna be late. Let’s go, hop to.” Then you stride for the door, knowing the dynamic duo hates a mystery more than almost anything.

“Late for what?”

You smile at Wilson as the elevator doors open.

“Late for what?” Barnes seconds, following you into the kill box.

You let the doors close and the car starts to rise.

“Does she look smug?” Wilson asks Barnes. “She looks smug.”

The doors slide open and you lead your incorrigible instigators to the discretely marked office door down the hallway and into the tastefully minimal waiting room-slash-reception.

“Maybe she is going to kill us after all.”

You ignore Wilson with the ease of long practice as the receptionist’s eyes widen, though her hand gestures in the universal symbol for ‘please go ahead’.

“Nah.” Barnes’ tone tries for jovial and falls just shy of convinced, still following you. “Too many witnesses.”

“Have a seat.” Your tone is mild, but it’s still a command and it pleases you greatly to watch both of them sink down into the not-quite oversize armchairs in the middle of the room across from the good doctor, who is watching with amusement as you turn to her. “They’re all yours, doc. I’ll be back to get them in an hour.”

The door closes on Wilson’s next query. “What the hell do we need therapy for?”


	152. Codewords

“Oh, this one’s pretty!” Nat trails a finger along the casing.

Rogers grumbles. “For the hundredth time,  _ please _ stop touching the thermonuclear bombs, Nat.”

Eight different buyers, representing several different organizations. Six suitcase nukes. One night, one auction. So many potential outcomes for disaster. 

Just another Saturday night for you, tucked away in the surveillance van down the block from the ostentatious mansion hosting the evening’s festivities while your team went to work in the field.

Your stomach let out a rumble as Barton’s camera showed another caterer passing by with a tray of something fancy and probably impossible to pronounce. You’d already gone through your usual stakeout provisions this time, and breakfast was but a faint and distant memory.

“Good news.” Rogers pulled your attention back to the basement where he and Nat were inspecting the auction items. “We’ve got all six here, cores and all. Good to break up the show and call it a night. Nat, I swear to god, if you touch that one more time...”

Your stomach let out a rumble that somehow didn’t get picked up by your comms.

"Asking Nat to keep her hands off something deadly is a losing proposition, Rogers." Barton offered helpfully. 

Your empty belly began to sing the song of its people.  Hmm...Would that place down the street from the Tower be open by the time you managed to get your ducklings in a row and back home?

“Y/n?”

You realized Rogers was calling your name. “Huh?”

“Everything green?”

“Yeah.”

“Six nukes, eight buyers, all in under eleven hours.” Rogers’ voice is filled with concern. “Usually you’re more…”

“Excited?” Nat offers. “Chipper? Pleased?”

“Sorry.” You kinda mean it, even as you call up the local FBI liaison to give the all clear for the law enforcement officers to move in. “I’m really hungry.”

“Is that a code word?” Wilson asks from upstairs where he and Barton have been making the rounds. “Did someone update the codewords and forget to tell me?”

“Don’t pretend you learned them the first time around.” Barnes beats you to it by one second - one - from his perch across the street.

Your stomach let out noises this time loud enough that Earth's Mightiest Assholes fell into a stunned silence.

"Was that..."

"Do you have whales in the van right now?" Wilson demanded.

Barnes' scoff came through loud and clear. "She's obviously _listening_ to whales. How would she even get actual whales inside the van?"

"Well obviously I didn't mean actual whales..."

"Why is y/n listening to whale song in the middle of this op?" Rogers asks, exasperated. You can actually picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyebrows drawn in with that patented 'why me?' way.

Your stomach lets out another mournful rumble.

"They're supposed to be soothing and good for regulating stress." Nat's clearly entertained by the unfolding conversation.

"Are you saying that we're so stressful to work with, y/n has to listen to whale song?"

"Guys..."

"Maybe she's watching Finding Nemo?" Barton offers. "Aren't there whales singing in that one?"


	153. The New Recruit

“And this is what you do, all day, every day?” The newest Wrangler recruit looks between the two of you, a little shocked.

“Don’t act like this is totally new territory for you.” Your counterpart leans back in the booth and signals the waiter for another round of cannoli and red. “You’ve been running around with the Defenders long enough to know  _ someone _ has to keep the wheels on when there are superheroes involved.”

“And you think that person is...me?”

“Isn't it? Plus,” Your counterpart pauses as the waiter deposits the confectionary delights on the table, refills the wine glasses all around. “You’re pretty much already doing it. This way you at least get paid.”

“Benefits?”

“Full medical, good dental, vision. Plus, retirement matching. Three full weeks vacation.”

“Claire.” You reach across the table and give her hand a little squeeze with a soft smile. “You can do this.” And then, because you know she’s going to take the gig, you add. “ _ Please _ do this. I cannot manage the paperwork for Earth’s Mightiest Assholes  _ and _ those four lunatics.”


	154. Therapy

Getting Superheroes to therapy was a disproportionately difficult task most days. It was worth it - sweet god, was it worth it most of the time - but Earth’s Mightiest Assholes weren’t out to make it easy for you.

You’d blackmailed Romanov to get her here last week, and she had glared at you the entire drive over, muttering in Russian under her breath about how she would make you regret it. In detail.

You were pretty sure she didn’t know you spoke Russian.

Maybe.

You wouldn’t put it past her to pretend she didn’t know, while knowing...

Rogers had taken the bribe of an upgrade to his motorcycle, and had walked out of the office like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders the first time, then balked when it came time for the next appointment. You’d threatened to release the pictures of Retriever-Steve with the shield to Bob and that had been enough to get him through the door a second time.

Barnes and Wilson were like toddlers - you just didn’t tell them where you were going or why and took a different route into the building each time so far. Unfortunately, therapy was helping them unite, which you were certain was going to come back and bite you in the ass sooner rather than later.

Thank God Stark had his own private therapist and B.A.R.F.

Really, he did need to come up with a new name for it.

But so far Peter Parker was your favorite, you decided as the door to the therapist’s office closed behind you, not quickly enough to cut off Parker’s greeting.

“Yoooo! Doc, you are  _ not  _ gonna believe the shit I have to tell you this week…”


	155. Avengers in Babysitting: SR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: In case you're wondering, I had yesterday and today off (I don't want to go back to work if you can't tell)
> 
> Just tooth-rotting fluff that refused to leave me alone

“Get up here right now.” Pepper hissed as you answered your phone.

“What? Why? What happened?” You’re already in action, running for the elevator and asking questions as the doors shut behind you - if Pepper Potts is calling you about an emergency, it’s gotta be big. “Did someone ruin Date Night? Do I need to call the other wrangler?”

Stark and Pepper are dedicated parents, but even they - maybe especially they - need a break from their little munchkin every now and then. Hence Date Night. Every other Thursday, without fail, Pepper and her husband would depart the Tower for a minimum of six hours. Sometimes it was just for dinner and a show, other times they'd stay out the whole night, stumbling back in as the stars came down.

“No, no no.” Pepper shushes. “Just...be quiet when you come in.”

“This isn’t another stupid attempt at a surprise birthday thing, is it?” You narrow your eyes. “I already told everyone to give up on that. How many times do I have stab someone-”

“No!” For all that it’s a whisper, it’s an awfully vehement sound. “Just...shut up and get here.”

“I’m here.” You say, as the elevator doors open and you hang up as Pepper, peeking around the corner that will dump the hallway into the living space of the suite she and Stark and Baby Stark call home, shoots you a narrow eyed glare. “Where’s Stark?”

“Hmm?” She finally gives you her full attention from whatever is around the corner. “Oh. Bruce wanted to run something by him. He’ll be along in a couple hours.”

“What was so...Who’s singing?” You asked as the melody finally reached your ears. It was a simple tune, melodic voice. You could swear you’d heard it somewhere before...

“Steve.” Pepper nodded as your jaw actually dropped. “Right?”

“I thought you said no more Avengers in Babysitting after last time.” When Wilson had used Redwing as a baby monitor - rather unsuccessfully - culminating in an evening of ‘where’s the baby’ at the Tower that  _ no one  _ (expect maybe Morgan) wanted a repeat of.

Babies were hell once they figured out how to  _ move,  _ though you were pretty certain Morgan Stark was going to be a little extra than typical babies.

She was a Stark, after all.

“We needed a night out and no one else was around.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?”

“We thought you deserved an evening where you weren’t playing babysitter for once.” She moved just enough for you to peek around the corner, and you weren’t able to resist your own curiosity.

Rogers was standing, Baby Stark in his arms as he swayed ever so slightly from side to side as he sang, in a voice that was surprisingly mellow, “- ave her, Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow you will get your pay, and it's time for us to leave her.”

“Why does...Why does he have an accent?” Pepper asked.

You blinked as Rogers continued on, running one gently finger down the slope of Morgan’s nose as she yawned sleepily up at him. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a soft smile as he continued.

He did - just the hint of a lilt in a voice that wasn't there when he was speaking.

You facepalmed. “His mom.”

“What does that have to do with this?” Pepper asked as Rogers continued.

“Irish. He probably learned the song from her…”

“...So he sings it the same way.”

“-ind was foul and the sea ran high. Leave her, Johnny, leave her,” Rogers’ voice continued as Morgan blinked, little eyes growing heavy even as her tiny fist closed around his finger on its next gentle pass over the tip of her nose. “She shipped it green and none went by, and it's time for us to leave her…”


	156. Medical Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: short snippet today folks

“What did I ever do to make the medical staff not like me?” Barton whines from the bed, already picking at the edges of the bandage as the nurse walks away.

Your eyes rolled of their own accord. “You called all of the nurses ‘Nurse Ratched’.”

“Oh. I did, didn't I?”

“Yeah. So,” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You going to tell me how you wound up in medical today?”

“No?” Under your glare, he relents. “Okay, okay, I was -”

“If you say helping Barnes with another prank, I will shove that quiver-”

Barton just whistles cheerfully.

“Spill, Barton.”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ sound, smug and happy. You can tell he’s not going to give  _ you _ anything. “Hey, who are you calling?”

You hold up a finger to shush him. “Hi, Lara? It’s me. Yeah, it’s about Clint. He’s fine, he’s fine - no need to rush over. Just thought you should know he got hurt today…”

“Not. Cool.” 

You raise one single eyebrow - thank you Nat - in clear demand.

“Okay, okay. Fine. But you can’t tell Barnes I’m the one who told you.”


	157. Pretty Dumb

"For a genius billionaire," You informed Stark, handing him a tool from the workbench. "You really are pretty dumb."

"First, it's 'genius billionaire playboy-husband philanthropist' and second - if this is because I don't separate my whites and my darks or whatever...we have people for that. People who aren't me, who we pay very well."

You rolled your eyes. "Poor Pepper. But no, this isn't about that."

"Oh." Stark looked away from his project, curious. "Is it because of those pictures I sent her to prove Morgan was fine while she was in Hong Kong? I knew it would freak her out..." He muttered, more to himself. "Shouldn't have done the one with her in the air..."

"No, I was referring to your latest addition to the prank wars."

"Oh. That. What? You don't like the song selection?" He turns back to his project. "I thought most of them were funny."

You think back to Barnes' reaction to F.R.I.D.A.Y. playing the Tin Man's song every time he entered a room for the last day and a half. "Okay. You know what, you got me there. Just saying - you entered the battle zone, don't come crying to me when the Dynamic Duo makes you pay for it."


	158. The Elevator

Tony and Pepper have finally taken a vacation - just a short little weekend jaunt, leaving Morgan with Jane and Thor this time - so naturally, the Tower goes to pieces on Friday night the  _ minute _ they hit the communication blackout zone surrounding Stark Cabin.

And by 'Tower', you mean ‘elevator’. And by 'to pieces' you mean 'get stuck between floors'.

Because the universe is like that.

“Hey,” Barnes tapped your leg with a metal finger, face broadcasting concern as he settled in next to you, back against the wall. “You okay?”

You nodded.

Rogers was looking between the two of you with confusion, and Bucky explained as you exhaled nice and slow, trying to wrestle your mind back from the brink of disaster

“She doesn’t like small spaces.”

“I don’t like being  _ trapped _ in small spaces.” You corrected, knowing that you were missing the mark on your normal tone by a country mile.

Why did this have to keep happening? Surely there were only so many times the universe could single you out like this...

“Distract me. Please.” You hated the way your voice nearly cracked. "When are you two going to have your first date already?"

And just like that, the tension has skyrocketed and you're no longer thinking about the tiny little box suspended thirty plus stories above the earth, anchored by one - okay, more than that - cable to keep you from plummeting to your doom. Okay, you're thinking about it _less_.

"Well, _someone_ hasn't made a move yet." Barnes teases.

"I have moves." Rogers scoffs. "In fact, I have moves you've never even heard of."

Your laugh is a little tight, but it's there. "Yeah. Because you're practically a senior citizen."

"Excuse me, young lady." Rogers mock-glares at you and Barnes sniggers. "The adults are talking."

"R-ight. The adults who can't even go on a date." You roll your eyes, then yelp and clutch at Barnes' arm as the elevator shudders. "Ooohhh no...."

"I thought Steve was the only one who wanted to climb me like a tree." Barnes laughed, then glanced down at how tightly you were gripping his arm when you glared at him. 

Rogers blushed under both your gaze.

"So why aren't you dating him?" You whisper-asked Barnes, letting go of his arm with a herculean effort of will.

Barnes gave you a wicked grin, halfway aimed at Rogers and you didn't miss the telltale bob of Rogers throat as he whispered back. "Probably because I'd destroy him for all other men."

You let your eyes move over Rogers in an evaluating kind of way. America's Ass is looking just flushed under all the banter and byplay, but he meets your gaze with that stubborn set of his chin. 

"He'd be into that." You surmise.

Rogers goes bright, bright red and Barnes dissolves into laughter.


	159. Dangerous Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Short snippet teaser

“-ut seriously,” Barton asks again, not bothering to mind the mouthful of ice cream. “Where DO Wranglers come from?”

“Well,” You start. “When a Mommy Wrangler and a Daddy Wrangler love each other _very_ much…”

Wilson cackles, swiping the carton of ice cream from Barton’s greedy hands. “Surprised you don’t know that, Barton.”

Barton scowls. “But seriously. Is there like...a union? Or something? Who makes those rules? What happens if someone breaks them? How do you get _new_ wranglers?” Another glare at Wilson. “These are important questions, dammit.”

“These are _dangerous_ questions.” You correct.

Barton grins. “Only kind worth asking.”

"No." You shake your spoon at him menacingly. "Remember how badly it went the last time you all followed me and got into business that was none of yours?"

"Thor is still really disappointed he can't call you sister in law." Wilson added helpfully. 

"Yeah, well, he's going to have someone else to say that to pretty soon." You mutter, stealing the carton from Wilson. 

"What was that?"

"Noooothing."

Barton narrows his eyes at you. "Is Loki going to ask someone the most dangerous question?"

"The most..?" Wilson's confusion is adorable, as is his realization. "Oh, no shit? Reindeer Games is gonna propose to someone?"

You shrug. "These are dangerous questions."


End file.
